


The Resolving of Grey

by Dwionn



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Darkfic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Choking, Hate, Horror, M/M, Male Slash, Mind Invasion, Prisoner of War, Prophecy, Psychological Torture, Redemption, Survival, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwionn/pseuds/Dwionn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's trained to protect. He's trained to kill. </p><p>And dark prophecies have dark power. </p><p>[Darkfic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Prophecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This will be a dark fic. The pairings are Reylo/Stormpilot, so if that offends anyone, this is not the story for you. Rey and Kylo Ren are not at all related in this fic, despite the potential in future Star Wars movies. Again, I don't want to offend anyone.
> 
> Takes place THREE YEARS after the destruction of Starkiller Base.
> 
> Feedback is all welcomed and much appreciated! (This story is also posted on FFnet)
> 
> * Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**"First comes the day**

**Then comes the night.**

**After the darkness**

**Shines through the light.**

**The difference, they say,**

**Is only made right**

**By the resolving of grey**

**Through refined Jedi sight."**

**- _Journal of the Whills_ , 7:477**

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

It was not the first time Takodana rained.

 

Rain came frequently, receding to the dry as day recedes to night. Verdant forests flourished over battlefields and lakes drowned the graves of the fallen beneath them. But no one knew of that, no one had lived long enough to see the horrors the world once faced—all but one.

 

Maz Kanata dropped the tray on the counter with a long, vapid sigh. Days like this when it was grey and gloomy dragged on for a millennium. The castle was packed with all types of travelers—smugglers that crowded the game boards and humanoids that drunk themselves into oblivion. Howls and slurs and raunchy band music suffocated the air while females pleasured their male accomplices. It was indeed a dangerous atmosphere—one of vulgarity and violence—but it was comfortable for Maz. The disarray and diversity calmed her like nothing else could.

 

She watched her droid refill her tray with orders, one meticulously made drink after the other until the weight mounted up and was ready to go out again. Every time the cantina doors reopened, she listened, not needing to turn around to identify the visitor. Those were the perks of being force sensitive. Nothing, and no one, ever came without her noticing.

 

_Now, if only I had Jedi telekinesis_ , she mused.  _Then the drinks could walk themselves to the guests._

 

She weaved in and out of the crowds, small and plump and invisible to the common eye. She blended in so well that no one paid much mind to her, save for the few guests she sensed had come for her and not for the cold refreshments and cheap entertainment.

 

Maz returned to the droid when the door opened again.

 

She felt him instantly.

 

His power. His energy.

 

The _Force_.

 

_Him._

 

She spun around. In the doorway stood a cloaked figure, tall and quiet, with a hood shadowing his face. None of the other smugglers or travelers even turned their heads to the newcomer, all of them utterly blind to the person standing amongst them.

 

Lightning cracked across the sky—and the figure was suddenly gone, the door left wide and empty.

 

_Not gone_ , Maz adjusted her lenses.  _Waiting_.

 

"Take over for me," she told her droid. "I’ve got some business to oversee."

 

The droid bleeped its comply. She wasn't sure how long she’d be gone, but if  _he_  had come all this way to speak to her, then it certainly couldn’t have been some trivial matter.

 

Maz descended down into the corridors underneath the castle, down where her personal quarters were and where she knew she’d find him. It was the same place she brought him all those times before when they were in frequent contact, where she had agreed to hold his weapon. Now he'd see what the years had done to the vault, all the years gathering dust in his absence.

 

Sure enough, she found him at the far end of the hall, still hooded, as he faced the old room. Maz faltered at the foot of the stairs.

 

"A long time it has been, Jedi."

 

The hood shifted towards her. Although his current garb was dark and intimidating, his voice came out as gentle as she remembered it.

 

"Did you not presume I was dead?"

 

Maz snorted as she walked out to him. "Death comes for many in this life, Skywalker. But I never believed it would take you so soon."

 

The figure unveiled his hood with one, robotic hand.

 

Maz remembered him in his youth. The young, dashing Jedi she called him. Honey blonde and blue eyed, with a trademark, innocuous smile that looked past every man's masks and darkness and horrors—and looked at them as if he trusted them with his life.

 

Now the years away from civilization had punished him. He was a rugged man, now—all traces of youth buried under layers of thick, stressed wrinkles. His hair was long and unkempt, kissed with silver that made a trail down his jaw and over his upper lip. His face was almost unrecognizable—save for his eyes, which were blue as ice and tranquil as stone.

 

Luke made a gesture to the room. "I’m surprised you managed to keep it here all this time.”

 

Maz smiled. "You never came back for it."

 

"No," he said. "I didn't."

 

"But it has found it's way back to you now, I trust."

 

He opened his cloak, revealing the old lightsaber tucked into his faded brown belt, safe and reunited with its master. Maz chuckled, really chuckled, for the first time in a long while.

 

"Come," she beckoned, opening up another room. "We can talk in here."

 

Maz keyed in a code next to the door. The system answered red and unlocked with a hiss. Luke followed her inside.

 

The room was small, probably no bigger than a cockpit. Chewbacca would have had difficulty standing up straight with how low the ceiling was. Still, it had a humble place to sit, and Luke lowered himself into a chair while Maz cleared the room of dishes and trinkets. While he waited for her to finish, he folded his hands back into the sleeves of his cloak.

 

"You should've let me treat you to a drink when we were upstairs," she said. "Like old times."

 

Luke smiled faintly. "I try to avoid the public eye."

 

"So the eyes have noticed." Maz took her own seat, tenting her fingers to study the old Jedi master in full. "You hid yourself so cleverly for so long. The  _missing_  Skywalker. Some even believed the legend. The one where you never even existed."

 

He remained silent at that. She continued. "Your sister did what she could to find you. Everything possible—just to sense even the _briefest_  flicker of your signature. But you were as quiet as ever."

 

"Leia came to you?" he asked.

 

"Twice. The first after the First Order established itself under Snoke. The second after they attacked those innocent planets." She paused. "I expect you have at least shown yourself to her since your droids found you?"

 

"Briefly. But I didn’t stay. Leia does not need my help."

 

Maz pursued her lips. "Perhaps she does. The weight of the First Order grows stronger with each passing year. Even the Resistance has not faced so great a threat." She sighed. "The poor woman. She has a great weight on her shoulders, your sister. I could sense the despair in her after Solo died. You've heard of what happened?”

 

His face grew grave beneath the shadows. "I did," he said. "My Padawan told me."

 

Her eyes lit up as she took in what this meant. She had been right about that girl, after all. Luke was training a new Jedi.

 

"So. The girl finally found you. She trains with you now?"

 

His beard curled. It might have been a smile.

 

"She is strong."

 

Maz nodded along. "A natural, she is. I felt it, too. There is good in her. Light. The galaxy needs that. The galaxy needs light in such a rapidly evolving dark age."

 

Luke made no reply. Instead, he lowered his eyes to the table, now deep in thought. Maz waited for him to say something else, anything, before finally permitting herself to ask the question that had been on her mind since his sudden arrival.

 

"Why did you come to me, Skywalker?"

 

More silence ensued. Maz knew this had to be important. After so many years of trying to stay hidden, she was certain that the Skywalker she once knew no longer traveled the galaxy just for the sake of reuniting with old friends.

 

Luke lifted his hand then, summoning the Force as a small slip of paper rose from one of his pockets. Then, with startling ease, the paper hovered to where Maz sat, and she plucked it from the air.

 

There was writing on it. Small and black with foreign lettering. Maz smoothed out the crumples while the Jedi watched from across the table.

 

"Can you read it?" he asked her.

 

Maz adjusted her lenses to enhance the size. She studied the contents for a moment, frowning, before finally stating.

 

"This is very, very old."

 

"I dreamt of it," Luke said. "For nights, I dreamt of this message over and over. I saw the symbols, but I could not read them. I felt its importance, but could not make it out. Not even the droids could decipher the language when I wrote it down."

 

"That is because it is _ancient_ ," Maz told him. "These are ancient symbols here. Letters of the midi-chlorians. Very few creatures in these years would be able to translate it for you."

 

"Can you?" Luke asked again.

 

Maz looked down. It had been  _so long_. No one read the language of the midi-chlorians anymore. She herself found that studying it centuries ago had been a long and tedious task.

 

But it was important. It had to be. Nothing was translated in the most ancient of languages if the message was not crucial to the galaxy. These were words forged by the Force itself. It had to mean something.

 

Maz adjusted her lenses again, up to the largest notch.

 

"I will try," she told him.

 

The message seemed short enough. Unfortunately, her knowledge seemed as ancient as the language itself—deep and buried away in the crypts of her mind. It took her some time to even decipher a character.

 

"This," she finally said, pointing to it, "it means to vanquish. To  _conquer_."

 

Luke frowned. "And the rest?"

 

She scanned the paper again. Then, she pointed, "To  _rise_."

 

Maz did not translate the rest of it out loud. He waited for her to finish, retaining his guarded look, until she lifted her head again. Her eyes carried a heavy, solemn weight.

 

"Do you remember the last message translated from the midi-chlorians?"

 

Luke knew. "The prophecy," he said. "The one of the child that would bring balance to the Force. The one about my father."

 

"Yes," Maz said.

 

Luke stared at her, suddenly understanding. "This too is a prophecy."

 

"Yes," Maz said. "And a grim one."

 

The Jedi grew silent. Both of them were familiar with the destruction and chaos that followed prophecies. And now that a new one had unfolded, it was only a matter of time before everyone in the galaxy would know of its existence.

 

Luke had to know. He nodded for her to continue.

 

The paper shriveled in Maz's hands.

 

"I cannot read it all," she confessed, "But the contents are clear. It foretells the death of one, in which another will rise to fruition from the other's death."

 

Luke frowned, replaying her words over and over in his head, scrutinizing every last detail.

 

Maz swallowed. "There is more."

 

"What is it?"

 

"This mark, here," she tapped at the second letter. "It is a combination of two symbols. Two words.  _Sky_  and  _Walker_." She paused. "The death will be a Skywalker. And the other…" she paused. "A Skywalker, as well."

 

Luke felt something constrict in his chest. Two Skywalkers. Only three still alive. One would not survive…

 

"Another Skywalker," he echoed.

 

"A chosen one," Maz said. "Just as your father was before you."

 

_His father_.

 

Anakin Skywalker. The child of the prophecy. The man that would ultimately give his life to bring balance to the Force. Luke learned everything there was to know about his father, learned of all the disorder and death Vader had plunged the galaxy into over an ancient message. But even his prophecy did not mention specific deaths.

 

"And once this one rises," Luke said, "what will ensue?"

 

Maz's old, wrinkled lips thinned out. The foretelling left a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

"Whomever this person is, upon the Skywalker death, will be more powerful than us all. This person will determine the future of our galaxy."

 

The future of the galaxy.

 

Luke hoped it would not come to this. He prayed that the contents were innocuous and meant nothing, that they held little significance like his other dreams. He'd had recurring nightmares in the past, after all. All Jedis did.

 

But deep down, a part of him did know. He anticipated its importance. If the Force itself simmered to its demands, interlaced with death and catastrophe, how could it not be?

 

The Jedi closed his eyes.

 

"There are very few Skywalkers left," she said. "Only you, your sister, and—"

 

"Ben."

 

Maz paused. "Snoke’s apprentice.”

 

"My nephew," he confirmed. "Kylo Ren. The one who laid siege to your planet in pursuit of the droid."

 

"I remember."

 

Luke remained very still. Now it all made sense. Why the message so fervently prodded at him. Why he felt its implication. Why he sensed the Dark Side.

 

He was in danger.

 

A great threat was looming overhead, and not just for the galaxy, but for him as well. Isolating himself and his Padawan had not been enough. Everyone—the Resistance, the First Order, the midi-chlorians, the _Force_ —all of it was determined to push him out of his seclusion. Just as before.

 

Maz slid the paper back. When he reached out to take it, Maz clamped her hands over his own and met his eyes, fierce and desperate.

 

"Run," she whispered. "Find your sister. You must prepare yourselves for the backlash. It won't be long until the First Order discovers its existence."

 

"They already know."

 

Maz's eyes widened. "They couldn’t."

 

"Snoke knows," he said. "I feel the disturbance. He already knows it exists. He's known for years, now. His influence on Ben has grown. He must believe Ben is the chosen one. He grooms him now."

 

"To kill you," Maz finished.

 

"To kill me."

 

"Or his mother," she said. "Vader's blood runs through her, as well."

 

Luke gave the note a clean rip. Leia and the Resistance didn't have much time before the First Order would be plotting their next attack. And now that the hunt was for living Skywalkers, all in the name of a new prophecy—he expected everything to break into chaos.

 

Luke stood from the table. "I hope our meeting will remain secret."

 

"As it always is," Maz said, standing to let him out. She took his wrist again, urging. "Be wary, Jedi. The galaxy has grown darker in your absence. You can feel it just as I. War is close." She gripped tighter. "But just as the night may be upon us, it can still be saved by the brightest star."

 

His mouth hardened into a fine, straight line. This was a war he did not want to affiliate himself with. He had already done his duty and helped save his father. When he tried doing more for other students, it had only brought more chaos and death to the galaxy. Accepting another Padawan had been troubling enough.

 

"Thank you for your services," was all Luke said before he headed back down the corridor.

 

Maz watched him go. Despite the threats in the new prophecy, a part of her lifted, elated. She had waited too long for his return.

 

"Welcome back, Skywalker."

 

Luke stopped where he was. He stood there, lingering, pondering, before finally turning back to correct her.

 

"Luke Skywalker is still dead."

 

"Perhaps it is no longer your time to hide," Maz said. "Perhaps it is time to restore the light. Remember. What is alive may be delayed, but death is forever."

 

Luke said no more. Instead, he fixed his hood back in place, his face vanishing in its shadows. Then, as quickly as he came, the legend inside the cloak disappeared from the corridor, leaving Maz alone with the echoing silence of a dark prophecy.

* * *

 

**X**

 

 

 

 

 


	2. A Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

A single, red light bleeped from the crown of the underground corridor. It pulsed as a dying heartbeat, brightening and then shrinking back into the darkness as softly as a sea current. Its curt, little drone was the only sound.

 

Then, footsteps. A thunderous tread. Angry breathing.

 

General Hux wiped a hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat with his glove. He always perspired too much when he was angry. Everyone knew it. Some even renamed him the “red general” because of how red his face got in comparison to his hair. That, coupled with the dark circles under his eyes from his lack of sleep made him look nearly inhuman.

 

Hux growled under his breath. They were imbeciles. All of them. At least his commanders on Starkiller Base were thoroughly educated on the weapons and trained to follow orders. But he'd lost half of them when the base was destroyed, leaving him with only a few bumbling fools from a native planet regiment to manage the new weaponry.

 

And now, they had made him late.

 

Hux was a punctual man. He knew it. He prided himself in it. It was the only thing he was ever truly good at—pleasing his superiors by being on time. Now, after three long years of managing and perfecting the underground base, he would be facing his Supreme Leader late.  _Late_.

 

The general rounded to the last door, keying in the code to grant him access. It unlocked with a hiss, slithering vertical for his entrance. Hux took a long breath through his nose, regaining his composure, before finally heading inside.

 

Cold air met him. He could see his breath wafting into nothing from the little light in the room, the light of Snoke's hologram simmering in spitting static at the far end of the vault.

 

Hux bowed his head. "Supreme Leader."

 

Blue light festered down the creature's ominous face, his sickly, white skull jagged and decayed like a corpse's. Fog capered around his neck, seething, crackling, as if charged with electricity.

 

His voice shuddered the walls around them.

 

"You are late, General."

 

Hux distilled his own flinch. He hated disappointing him.

 

"My sincerest apologies," Hux bowed lower. "The new recruits. They are… difficult."

 

Snoke made a disapproving sound. The vibration ran through Hux's boots.

 

"Your base is still unprepared?"

 

"No—Supreme Leader. It is ready. Our new weapons are fully functional and prepared for battle. Our trackers are in place and the shields are properly installed. I have personally seen to it."

 

"And the base remains off enemy radars?"

 

Hux's lips coiled into a smile, visibly proud of his work. "They will never suspect where it is," he vowed.

 

"Good," the hologram said.

 

Hux waited for further orders. It had been some time since he'd faced Snoke like this. After Starkiller Base, the remnants of the First Order had to regroup and find a way to rebuild itself from scratch. Hux met with Snoke briefly in the preliminary stages, receiving orders to rebuild it until it became a substantial threat to the Republic again. In that time, that was precisely what Hux focused on.

 

But the wait for any direction from his supreme leader was long. There was no easy way for him to contact the Supreme Leader with his location unknown. For all Hux knew, he could have been dead. But Hux knew better than that. Snoke would not die before he got his way.

 

The hologram quivered in the darkness. Long, spidery fingers unsheathed themselves from Snoke's robes, digging into his seat of stone.

 

"It is time, General," he said.

 

Not understanding, Hux allowed his head to tilt back to meet his master's eyes. "Supreme Leader?"

 

"He is ready."

 

Hux's smirk fell. He knew exactly what that meant.

 

 _Kylo Ren_.

 

Snoke hadn't been the only one to disappear after the base's destruction. Upon his orders, the injured, dark Jedi was to be brought to him for re-instruction purposes. Snoke said he needed to complete his training, though Hux didn't see what good that would do.

 

Ren was weak. Arrogant. Too easily roused by emotion. Hux despised working alongside him. Sure, he did have some admirable powers, but he was more problematic to the First Order than productive, even for one so favored by having unnatural abilities. No training in the entire galaxy, no matter how vigorous, no matter how strong the master, would ever change that hot-tempered descendant of Lord Vader's.

 

Besides, Hux liked it without Ren there. He got more work done. His ideas flourished. His power grew. It was much easier to run a base without having another constantly questioning his strength and motives. And Hux had accomplished it all  _without_  his assistance—all without the  _Force_ , all without the blood of Vader. All on his own.

 

"Supreme Leader," Hux said, struggling to find the right words. "Are you sure Ren is entirely capable—?"

 

"Do you doubt my judgment?"

 

"No—never. But our steps must be precarious. If we are to destroy the Resistance once and for all, I need a commander devoted to our cause. Ren wanes. His mistakes— _damaging_  mistakes—have cost us our prime base and half of our fleet."

 

Snoke’s hologram leaned back. "You are right, General," he droned, and Hux felt a swell of pride. "I overestimated Kylo Ren's allegiance. The mistakes were those of a Padawan, and not of a true master of the Dark Side."

 

Static filled the short silence. Snoke continued. "He is now retrained. I have watched him progress. He will not be seduced by the Light again. He is ready to fulfill the prophecy."

 

Hux's jaw clenched. Oh, yes. He'd nearly forgotten about that damned prophecy. The one where a Skywalker was destined to kill another Skywalker to take control of the galaxy. The midi-chlorians and their prophecies was all rubbish to him. Only Force-users believed in such things.

 

"Can Ren truly be this…" his lip curled, "this  _chosen one_?"

 

"It has been foreseen. A Skywalker dies, another will rise. And from his death, will the other vanquish all his enemies. Once Kylo Ren kills his former master, the First Order will be unstoppable."

 

"Vader birthed two children,” Hux said.

 

"Yes. She too must die."

 

"Does he have the strength?"

 

The hologram quivered again, abrupt. They were running out of time. The connection would soon be severed.

 

"He has slain his father," Snoke said. "He will slay his mother just the same. His newfound strength has empowered him."

 

Hux stood there, seething with jealousy.

 

Under any other circumstance, the idea of the First Order triumphing the Resistance after extinguishing their last hope would have thrilled him. He'd worked so hard for this. He'd slept, eaten, and breathed for it all the same. He had dedicated his very existence to bringing down the Republic and their traitorous sub-factions.

 

But he could not find it in himself to rejoice. No. Not under  _Kylo Ren_.

 

"Supreme Leader— _I_  can destroy them," Hux insisted. "My new fleet, my new weapons—  _I_  can wipe out entire quadrants of space for the First Order—”

 

"Your emotion betrays you, General," Snoke mulled, his voice deep and resounding. "Your  _sentiment_. I am disappointed. You would rather _ignore_ this chance—"

 

"No, Supreme Leader," Hux bowed his head, ashamed. "No. I merely meant… there are other strategies that may be effective. After all, the Resistance is still weak. Our reports show even  _they_  have not located Skywalker—"

 

" _No_."

 

The power in his voice silenced Hux. Softer, he repeated. "No. He has been found. And when the time comes, Skywalker will emerge once more." There was another pause. "And he has taken a pupil. The girl—that  _scavenger_ ," he spat the word, "I sense her power. She too must be dealt with in time."

 

Hux lifted his chin. "No outsider can endanger our cause so long as this prophecy unfolds in our favor."

 

"Yes," Snoke hissed. "Go, now. Prepare your fleet. Kylo Ren will be sent to your base. When he arrives, you will begin a search for Skywalker. Your fleet must be prepared to face the Resistance."

 

"Yes, Supreme Leader."

 

The hologram wavered. The sound of static grew louder.

 

"Do not fail me, General."

 

Then, the transmission cut and disappeared. Hux stood alone in the dark, his head still bowed in respect.

 

"Never," he whispered.

* * *

 

**X**

 

 

 


	3. A Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

She listened carefully.

 

_Wind._

 

_Grass._

 

_Waves._

 

Her eyebrows knit together.

 

 _Where_ was  _he?_

 

Rey tried relaxing all of her muscles. Usually that helped. Channeling the Force was easy enough during combat training, but channeling it through meditation was on a whole, new level—and it frustrated her beyond belief.

 

She sat up, arching her spine as she focused more intently on her surroundings. She did not stir, apart from her hair sifting in the wind.

 

Her mind cleared. She extended her mental radars past her body, searching the energy for a life force, until—

 

Ah- _ha_.  _There._

 

There he was.

 

He'd certainly been a nuisance the entire time. She couldn't quite decipher what he was, perhaps some sort of beetle— with red, limpid wings, and a shell like black polish. He had been a constant threat to her concentration all day, and it took much restraint from her to leave it be in place, despite how annoying its little droning was.

 

Now, she would return the favor.

 

She narrowed down on his movements, hearing them, feeling them, while she closed her eyes tighter. The beetle whirred closer, looping in random, spontaneous circles, looping his way back to her. The droning grew louder.

 

Rey smiled.

 

_Yes. Come closer, you little cretin._

 

The droning got louder.

 

And louder.

 

And _louder_ —

 

_Perfect._

 

The buzzing stopped.

 

Rey opened her eyes.

 

The beetle hovered inches from her nose, its wings frozen in the air. It seemed to be restrained by something unseen, by some force in the atmosphere. It twitched, presumably trying to free itself.

 

Rey relaxed her fingers.

 

The beetle stumbled off as quickly as its wings could carry it. Though it wasn't a human creature, Rey could feel its fear, compelling it further and further away from where she sat. She was certain it would not return. Not until it forgot, that is.

 

Rey returned to her meditation. It wasn't long after when she sensed her master's return.

 

Sure enough, a ship flew overhead, casting a great shadow over the island. She could hear the faint, descending whine of the engine before it snuffed out completely. She waited for him on the rock, impatient to see his reaction to how long she'd been meditating.

 

Eventually, she heard his footsteps in the grass behind her. Without cracking an eye, she acknowledged. "You're back."

 

His cloak bristled her bare arm. "You meditated this whole time," he observed.

 

She frowned. She thought he would've been proud of her.

 

"Only four hours!”

 

He just nodded.

 

"How was it?" she asked.

 

Luke looked on to the foot of the island, down where the waves crashed and died on the shoreline. His eyes were noticeably pale and distant. Whatever he learned when he found Maz Kanata was not something that brought him any pleasure.

 

Instead of answering her question, he turned and headed back towards the stone, monastic caves.

 

"Practice your sparring," he instructed as he disappeared inside.

 

Rey watched after him a while, lingering on the spot he stood. Perhaps he still did not trust her. Perhaps he still didn’t want her to know. Either way, she felt a part of her deflate. Perhaps she still was not worthy enough.

 

With a sigh, she stood to fetch her sparring staff.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

There would be a storm that night.

 

Dark clouds gathered overhead, the air cold and brisk. Rain had already feathered down, and it would not be long until the rest of it followed suit. She'd learned very quickly during her first few months of training that the island was surrounded by open sea, and open sea had a penchant for reminding the little land who was really the most powerful adversary.

 

She finished clogging the last of the windows while Luke lit the candles. He went about the room, focusing on each and every one until it birthed a small flame. He always seemed so calm as he did it—so removed from the physical world. Rey always wondered if she would ever grow to become that patient.

 

She knelt down besides the cooking fire, already crackling and spitting with life. With careful hands, she removed one of the pots and brought it to her chest, a cup of broth mixed with fresh herbs. She watched Luke finish lighting the candles.

 

"Will you teach me how to do that, tomorrow?" she asked him.

 

Luke turned. "To light candles?"

 

"To create fire using the Force."

 

He smiled faintly. "Why would you need to learn that?"

 

Rey shrugged, taking a sip of her broth. "I don't know," she said. "It might be useful in an upcoming battle."

 

He watched her, the amusement dimming from his eyes. Something long and deep churned through him, but he let it pass as he joined her on the other side of the cooking fire.

 

"I will not teach you tomorrow," he said, "because you are leaving in the morning."

 

Rey blinked. "What?"

 

"That paper there, behind you. It is for Leia. I want you to take it to her."

 

Rey turned to see what he meant. A parchment sat there on the sill, clean white and folded properly. She swallowed, trying to tame her disbelief and the coming tears.

 

"But…" she faltered. "But… couldn't R2 send the message?"

 

He looked down. "Droids are not human. They can be broken. Intercepted. And this message must not be intercepted. It must go directly to my sister, and to her only."

 

She stared back at him, the tears coming faster now. She tried to frown, to mask them with anger, but it was becoming difficult.

 

"And then what?" she demanded. "What will I do?"

 

Luke took a long drink from his broth. She noticed his eyes were still as clouded as before.

 

"You will do what she asks of you," he merely returned. "Whatever she wants. I am sure she can put someone of your skill to great use in the Resistance."

 

Rey could hardly believe it. The broth was growing cold in her hands.

 

"You are not intending for me to come back," she realized.

 

His answer came in silence, the drumming of the rain louder and heavier.

 

She argued. "My training isn't finished."

 

"No."

 

"You promised you would train me."

 

"I did," he said. "And I have. But your duty lies elsewhere, now. Completing your training must wait."

 

Wind howled into the hovel as one of the rags in the windows broke free. Luke rose before she could, stuffing the rag back into position until it was silent again.

 

The Jedi took his time returning to his spot. He moved slower, now. Weaker. Rey could sense it before—how different he had been since he returned from his journey. Luke had always been a quiet, withdrawn figure, but now she was certain he was being purposely despondent. Something Maz had told him had greatly troubled him.

 

He started getting the nightmares a few months back. She remembered, because she felt them, too. She could not see what the content was, but she felt how it pulled him, how it roused him in the night. The energy was so thick she thought it would explode.

 

She eventually told him he needed help. Living in solitude would not solve his problem. He needed to find someone he could trust, someone who could help him understand these nightmares if he truly wanted to be free of them. It took much persistence on her part, but eventually he succumbed to departing the island to search for Maz Kanata, an old friend of his, and a name she remembered during her short journey alongside Han Solo.

 

But now she wished she hadn't said anything. Going to get help had only made things worse for both of them. If she had found a way to help Luke Skywalker on her own, perhaps he wouldn't have this ridiculous notion of casting her off in the middle of her Jedi training.

 

Thunder rumbled overhead. Rey put down her pot, gathering the courage to ask him a question.

 

"What did Maz tell you, master?"

 

Luke's eyes rose from the flames to her. She watched the firelight simmer across his features—his bushy eyebrows, his wrinkles, his silver hair. The way it hit him made him look older than he ever had before.

 

Luke smiled softly, then, as a father would to a child. "It is nothing for you to worry about.”

 

Rey held strong. "You can trust me with the truth. I can help. I don't need to be protected. I can take care of myself."

 

"I know you can," he said. "You are my Padawan. You are gifted, and you are strong. I have never doubted your strength." He leaned forward, a great calmness in his eyes. "But Maz Kanata told me things about these nightmares that are dark, Rey. Very dark. I would not trouble you with this information and it is not because I doubt your strength. It is because some information holds more than knowledge. This holds danger."

 

Rey paused, giving his words some thought. "But who would I be in danger from by knowing this?"

 

Thunder cracked across the skies, thick and loud. Luke did not so much as shudder as he answered her question.

 

"The Dark Side," he said.

 

Rey swallowed, hard. It had been a long time since she'd heard of such things. Ever since the Resistance had destroyed the First Order's base, there hadn't been many more frontal attacks from them. It seemed the destruction had scared them off, the last of them shrinking back into the shadows they'd crawled from. They hardly seemed a threat anymore with how much the Republic had rebuilt in their absence.

 

But Rey knew it wasn't gone. No. Never. Luke had taught her to feel it. After all, if she wanted to be a Jedi, she would need to feel both sides of the Force. The light and the dark. The good and the bad. The balance that made up Jedis and their Padawans.

 

She knew it still existed, but she no longer believed it was such a threat. Not enough to strike fear into someone like Luke Skywalker.

 

Besides, she had confidence going up against them. How many times had she battled it out with their cronies on Jakku? How many times had she told them off? She even resisted Snoke's apprentice—Kylo Ren—and had held him off with Luke's lightsaber. They surely were no  _worthy_  threat to her.

 

Raising her chin, Rey declared. "I am not afraid of the First Order."

 

Luke smiled— the flames highlighting the wrinkles around his eyes. Although it was a great smile, it was not intended in awe.

 

"They will return," he said. "They rebuild as we do. Snoke and my nephew underestimated you, Rey. They will not show you the same leniency. They will come after you. And the less you know, the less valuable you will be to them."

 

Rey's brow furrowed. She couldn't believe Luke was giving them so much praise. He was the most powerful being in the whole galaxy. The First Order did not stand a chance against him.

 

Urging, she said. "You can defeat them, master."

 

More thunder. Luke finished off his broth, seemingly unconcerned with answering her right away. He put his pot next to hers and folded his hands into his long sleeves.

 

"No," he said. "I cannot. And I will not. This has never been my fight, and it never will be."

 

Rey stared at him, though her imploring stare seemed a thousand miles away. She didn't understand why he was so adamant about keeping his distance from the Republic. They needed him. His sister needed him. The First Order would crumble if Skywalker allied with them. Isn't that what he wanted?

 

But Rey held her questions. She knew him, now. She knew she could not change his mind, no matter how she relented. Perhaps in his own time he would come to his senses, but for now, she was best off following his orders. Even if he wanted to discontinue her training.

 

Luke stood, taking his leave. "You will depart in the morning," it wasn't a question.

 

Rey looked down at her lap, reluctantly.

 

"Yes, master," she whispered.

 

The Jedi nodded. "Good."

 

Then, without any movement or direct contact, Luke extinguished the cooking fire.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

She would miss the island.

 

It wasn't like leaving Jakku. When she left, she left behind blistering, hot suns and sandstorms and smells of old, recycled machinery. This was different. She'd fallen in love with it. The island was green and fragrant, and smelled of rich, wet earth. And then there was the rain. Yes, that sweet rain. She would definitely miss the rain.

 

Rey snapped the last clasp of her luggage sack and threw the strap over her shoulder. She didn't have much to pack. She'd only brought a few spare changes of clothes when she came. Now, she would be leaving with the same belongings. No more. No less.

 

Her staff sat untouched in the corner. She'd brought it along as well, though she wasn't sure she'd need it. Luke had already told her before he would provide her with sparring equipment. But she had grown fond of the old thing and had difficulty leaving it behind. It made her feel stronger. Safer.

 

Rey grasped it, holding it tight in her fist. Then, with one last look around the room, she ducked out into the open sunlight.

 

Luke waited for her at the summit of the rock. The way he stood there in his cloak with his hood shadowing all visible expressions made him look like an apparatus.

 

Rey stopped in front of him. She hoped he could see all the emotions still fervent in her eyes—her disappointment, her reluctance. She didn't know what good it would do since it wouldn't change his mind, but it was always worth trying to make him feel empathetic, especially about sending her away.

 

"Goodbye, master," she bowed.

 

Luke just inclined his head back to her, not saying a word.

 

Rey took that as the best she was going to get. She turned around and headed towards the stone steps, the ones that would take her down to the bottom.

 

She heard a voice behind her.

 

"Rey."

 

She turned back. Luke opened his cloak, revealing the old lightsaber.

 

"I never thanked you for bringing it back to me.”

 

Her lips curled into a small smile. He could have fooled her. For a moment, she actually thought he would admit he would miss her.

 

"It was no trouble," she told him. She continued descending down the steps.

 

She got to about a quarter of the way down when she heard his voice again.

 

"Rey."

 

"Yes?" she stopped.

 

He did not respond right away. He waited until she had turned fully to him, looking up at where he stood on the hill.

 

"Never forget the light."

 

She frowned, not understanding. What was he talking about? Of course she would never forget the light. She was a Jedi Padawan. It was her life, now. She couldn't forget it if she tried.

 

"Never forget it, Rey," he repeated.

 

She nodded back, deflating. She must have been more disappointed than she thought. She didn't know why she hoped he would say something more meaningful to her—it wasn't like he was her father. He was her master. He was not obligated to tell her he believed in her and that she had changed his life for the better. No.

 

Maybe it was better that way.

 

"I won't, master," she promised.

 

Rey continued down the steps, straining her ears in case she heard him call her back, but he did not stop her again.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

D'Qar had changed in her absence. The amount of grass mounds had tripled, spreading out for miles along the pastures of green fields. To any common onlooker, they were just knolls in the planet, but Rey knew they were hangars for the Resistance, shielded in thick, grassy camouflage.

 

Rey stepped out of the ship, meeting cold, dry air. A stark contrast to the humidity on Skywalker's island.

 

"Hold on, there," she heard a deep, mechanical voice. From her left, a group of rebel officers had already come out to meet her.

 

 _Of course_ , she thought.  _Protocol._

 

Rey looked over their leader and didn't recognize him.

 

"I'm Luke Skywalker's Padawan," she said. "I have a message for his sister, the General."

 

The leader blinked. "Luke Skywalker?"

 

"His Padawan, yes.”

 

He cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "I will send word to her. She will want to speak with you."

 

Once the squad disappeared, Rey watched as a set of X-wing fighters flew overhead and prepared to touchdown on the long strip of concrete. She briefly panicked, thinking she had landed her own ship too close for them to land, but the fighters were much more fluid and quicker to come to a rest.

 

They piled out, their pilots with red flight-suits and white vests. They laughed and joked, completely at ease without any indication they had been involved in a battle.

 

Rey felt a leap in her chest upon recognizing a man in the middle. His hair had grown longer—thick, dark waves coating his neck and shoulder. He laughed with the rest of them, his big, friendly smile all too familiar.

 

And just before she was going to call out to him, his eyes met hers.

 

It took him only a moment to recognize her and give her an even wider smile. He turned his head and whistled to someone behind him, someone with dark skin in a similar flight-suit. Rey's heartbeat stopped completely.

 

"Rey?" he pushed through the other pilots.

 

Excitement filled her.

 

"Finn?"

 

"REY!"

 

It was quite a reunion. It took Finn only a few strides to have her in a hungry embrace. Rey hadn't felt herself laugh like that in a long time.

 

"You're  _here_ —you're back, I mean…" Finn couldn't put together sentences. "You  _are_  back, aren't you?"

 

"Yes," Rey laughed. "How's your back?"

 

"Doing great," Finn said, proudly. "Hardly feel a thing, now. The medic said it would scar, but it shouldn't give me any more trouble."

 

"Good to hear," she was genuinely happy.

 

This was the one thing she missed when she was sent to the island. Her  _friends_.

 

She acknowledged his flight suit. "You're a pilot, now?"

 

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his head. "We're just training. The X-wings are preparing the new recruits for the next attack. I'm not that good, but—"

 

"He makes a good co-pilot," Poe interrupted, slinging an arm around his companion. "You'll get there, buddy."

 

"We'll see," Finn had his doubts. Rey looked down and smiled.

 

"Wait—so are you like… done?" he asked. "You already completed your training?"

 

"You're a Jedi?" Poe chimed in.

 

Rey's smile sank. "No. My training isn't complete. Luke sent me here to bring a message for Leia."

 

"Oh," Finn was disappointed too. "Well. What is it?"

 

"I don't know. He seemed concerned—"

 

" _Rey_."

 

She recognized her soft, motherly voice. General Leia Organa strode out to meet her, wearing her standard grey uniform and Resistance vest. Her silver hair was tied up in two elegant knots.

 

She extended her hands to Rey, her skin cold and thin as paper. "Dear child. You can not possibly be done with your training yet." Her eyes widened. "Why are you here? What's happened?"

 

Rey started to say. "Nothing's wrong—"

 

"Is Luke alright?"

 

"He's fine."

 

Poe cut in. "She's got a message for you, General."

 

"Yes." Rey fished into her bag for the paper. "Luke wanted me to give you…" she pulled it out, " _this_. He said it was urgent. He could not trust a droid to deliver it in case it was intercepted."

 

Leia took the parchment. Her fingers glazed it over to find the opening. "Well," she said. "It sounds important. Let’s see what it says."

 

"General!" the squad leader from before came running up to them. "Your shuttle is ready for departure."

 

Leia nodded to him. "Thank you, Commander," she said. "Tell the Chancellor we will be arriving soon."

 

"Yes, General."

 

"Unfortunate timing," Leia gave Rey a sad smile. "We are being hosted tonight on Mirrin Prime for a banquet. If all fairs well, we may be able to convince their chancellor to send more men to the Resistance." She folded the paper. "I'm sorry, Rey. Perhaps later tonight I can review Luke's message."

 

"We better get ready," Poe pounded Finn's arm. "C'mon."

 

"Yeah," Finn said, looking back at Rey. "You  _better_  not leave."

 

Rey smiled. "I won't. Go ahead."

 

The two pilots hurried off to rejoin their team. Leia placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Chancellor extended his invitation to my best pilots. Poe Dameron will give him the reassurance the Senate needs for our cause." She looked up at the younger woman, her eyes warm and brown. "Why don't you join us? I'm sure he'd love to meet Luke's last Padawan. He'd certainly love to meet Luke, for that matter." She chuckled. "Come. We will find you something suitable to wear."

 

"Master Luke said you're my new master and that I am bound to do whatever you wish."

 

Leia patted her arm. "Nonsense," she said. "As long as my brother lives, he will remain your _only_  master."

 

Rey smiled back and let Leia lead her inside the base. They began to discuss life at the island and how the Resistance was faring against the First Order until Leia stopped in her tracks, abruptly.

 

Rey felt it, too.

 

She couldn't describe it, precisely—only that she felt a strange sensation of emptiness, like something had been ripped from her soul. Something was  _absent._  Something was  _gone_.

 

They met eyes, the warmth of their conversation replaced with dread.

 

Rey suddenly understood.

 

" _Luke_ ," Leia whispered in horror.

 

* * *

 

**X**

 

 


	4. A Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

The ground shook violently as it began to split open. Sounds of screeching metal and falling earth filled the otherwise peaceful air of the uninhabited world, parting to reveal a deep, underground bunker.

 

General Hux stepped into the hanger, flanked by a squadron of stormtroopers. He spent the entire morning making sure everything was in order for an airstrike against the Resistance. He couldn't risk any complications the same day he reunited with his old rival. No. That simply wouldn't do.

 

He even took the liberty of authorizing a private assault on Belderone, sending a third of his fleet to recapture it and take hostages. It was perfect. By the time Kylo Ren reached the base, Hux would have already initiated Snoke's plan and got the results they needed to begin searching for Skywalker.

 

As the bay opened to the light above, Hux heard the familiar, metal crunching of Captain Phasma's footsteps behind him.

 

"Sir. I have received word from the Belderone fleet."

 

Hux smiled to himself.  _A quick victory_ , he mused.

 

"Go on, Captain."

 

"Our forces have been obliterated."

 

" _What_?" he spluttered.

 

Phasma went on. "My Lieutenant says they were ambushed. Only one TIE fighter survived. They are returning now with hostages."

 

Hux was livid. His face swelled into a hideous red.

 

"Put them in Hall 216," he seethed. " _All of them_. Get any information you can out of them."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

While Phasma departed, Hux struggled to regain his composure.

 

 _No_ , he shut his eyes.  _This could not happen._  He had not even consulted the Supreme Leader on the attack. How was he possibly going to explain the loss of such a significant portion of their fleet? How could he face him with this failure?

 

But Hux had no time to dwell on his misfortunes. Alerts sounded all throughout the hangar bay—signaling the arrival of a shuttle.

 

The light pooling at the floor from where the roof opened replaced with shadow. Red lights churned, warning the troops and mechanics below to get out of range. A roaring whine came from the roof, drowning out the petty mewls of the alarm systems, to what could only be Kylo Ren's formidable shuttle.

 

Hux tipped back his head to watch its descent. He'd forgotten how big it was. The carrier was twice the size of a standard transport vessel, long and tinted with red lights. The body was flanked by two massive wings, both carefully engineered to move the carrier with imposing speed. The wings folded over as it descended, just as a winged creature would into its cave.

 

The shuttle met the floor with an exasperated crack.

 

Troopers and mechanics filed out, a few returning to their work while others stood in place to honor their master's return.

 

The bay door fell.

 

Steam arose. Machines hissed. And through the haze of the raptorish shuttle's descent, a lone, dark figure stood at the summit of the opening.

 

Hux's face twisted into a sneer.

 

And there he was. The great, all-powerful favorite of Snoke's, standing there after so much time long passed.

 

_Kylo Ren._

 

The masked figure stood stationary, waiting for the atmosphere to clear. Then, a dark boot shot out into the steam, and he descended down to where Hux and his stormtroopers were.

 

Hux watched him carefully. Ren's walk seemed different. He used to walk with urgency, his footsteps distorted and uneven. Now, they seemed straighter. Calmer. His strides were longer, his frame leveled.

 

Hux shook his head. Insignificant details meant nothing to him. For all he knew, not seeing Ren for so long had merely gone to his head.

 

The steam continued to clear.

 

Hux noticed he'd constructed himself a new helmet. The last one was left on Starkiller Base, lost forever in the flames. Ren had  _yearned_  for it after Hux found him bloodied in the snow. He suffered a massive, ugly cut to the face, and Hux knew it humiliated him to have so many inferiors see it without a mask to hide behind.

 

_Pathetic fool._

 

Now it seemed Ren had taken care to make sure that never happened again. There was no more man to see—no more dark, tousled hair, no more eyes full of sentiment. No more weakness. No more scar.

 

Only metal.

 

The masked figure stopped before him, straighter than ever. He said nothing, though Hux could feel his glare beneath the fine, black lenses of his mask—watching him, waiting for him.

 

"How nice of you to return, Ren," Hux said, his voice laced with contempt.

 

The masked figure made no retort.

 

The general frowned. This was unusual. Normally when he would engage in passive aggressive remarks with Ren, his rival was quick to backfire. Nothing was easier than setting him off. It didn't matter what it was—his rival lived and breathed on having the last word.

 

But not this. Not this  _intolerable_ silence.

 

Hux derided further. "Did Snoke cut out your tongue, as well? Surely—"

 

"You overstepped your authority, General," came his deep, distorted reply.

 

Hux's sneer dropped.

 

"What?"

 

"The Belderone fleet. Your unauthorized attack incited the deaths of half of our remaining forces against a planet heavily guarded by Republic arms—and in direct violation to Supreme Leader Snoke."

 

Hux was at a loss for words.

 

He felt himself redden, but not from anger. How could Ren have possibly known? He couldn't have been keeping tabs on the base all that time. He  _couldn't_ have. Snoke and Ren were supposed to be long gone, hidden away on some faraway, unknown planet, with Ren locked in a room to mingle more intimately with his darkest thoughts. He couldn't have been aware of everything that had been happened in his absence.

 

Finally, Hux demanded. "Where did you learn this?"

 

The mask tilted slightly.

 

"Will this information return our fleet, General?"

 

Hux's ears burned. "Belderone is home to a Republic base. Capturing it would have disabled any aid to the Resistance. I did it to help us find Skywalker."

 

"You tried. You failed."

 

Hux swallowed. The words burned into his skull.

 

_He was right._

 

He  _failed_. He was weak. He failed the Supreme Leader—the First Order. He never held this sort of direct burden on his shoulders before—especially of this magnitude. He made it his life to remain flawless in everything he did, following all orders and doing everything in his power to defeat the enemy.

 

Now, it cost him his reputation. His good name. His  _pride_.

 

Hux had the decency to remain silent. Humiliation burned within him, hot as a flame.

 

"You've grown incompetent, General," Ren's voice was sharp. "The Supreme Leader would be disappointed. Go prepare the rest of your fleet. I will begin the search for the Jedi myself."

 

The masked man strode past Hux, leaving the general nothing to do but yield.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

" _A third of our fleet_?"

 

Hux flinched as Snoke's thunderous voice echoed all throughout the vast chamber, his hologram spitting with fury.

 

"I take full responsibility," he bowed his head. "It was an error on my part to overestimate the strength of our fleet—"

 

" _GENERAL_."

 

Hux clamped his mouth shut. He was sweating again, beads of it running down the side of his forehead. He wasn't sure he had ever felt this much shame in his life.

 

Snoke was seething. The blue fog blurred his form, yet Hux could still see his bony fingers digging into the stone. He was sure Snoke would have physically harmed him if he was physically there.

 

"An  _error_ …" Snoke fumed. "An error, General, that could have been avoided."

 

"Yes, Supreme Leader," Hux said. "It was a grievous error, I understand. I will not fail you, again."

 

"No," Snoke's hologram shook. "No you won't, General, because I am placing Kylo Ren in charge of the search."

 

Hux openly gaped at him. He whirled around, over to where the masked man had been standing silently in the back, listening but not speaking a word. Hux's lip quivered, both in rage and humiliation.

 

"Supreme Leader, _I_  have always overseen the missions—"

 

"The First Order must not risk further inconsistencies," Snoke cut in. "You have proven to be inept to follow simple orders. Perhaps with your newfound time, you can rebuild what you have cost the First Order."

 

Hux could hardly believe this was happening.

 

Hours before—this had all been his. The base, the weaponry, the troopers. He'd devoted years to flourishing it to where it was.  _Years_.

 

And now it was bring stripped away. All of it. And all because of  _Kylo Ren_.

 

While Hux scowled at the floor, Snoke leaned forward.

 

"There is more," he droned sinisterly.

 

Hux froze. He swallowed, his hands growing more and more clammy.

 

"Supreme Leader?"

 

"There is more you are hiding, General."

 

Hux felt his heartbeat hammering inside his ears. Hux was many things, but he would  _not_  level himself down to a liar. No. Not to his Supreme Leader. He hadn't lied; he merely left some of Phasma's information out.

 

Wetting his lips, he finally said. "During the Belderone attack, I received word that a few of my pilots were captured. If they are interrogated, they… might reveal where our base is hidden."

 

The room went deathly silent. Even the static of Snoke's hologram, usually crackling and spitting with energy, had dimmed from earshot.

 

Hux started to exhale, until he realized he couldn't.

 

He tried again.

 

Nothing.

 

_He couldn't breathe._

 

He tried to cough.

 

Nothing.

 

_He couldn't breathe!_

 

Hux lifted his hands to his throat, panicking. And one look behind him confirmed everything, one look at the masked figure's hand stretched out to him, his fingers coiled shut, as if choking him from afar.

 

Spluttering, Hux choked out. " _What_ —are you— _doing_?"

 

Ren said nothing.

 

Hux's knees hit the floor. His lips spread wider, begging for air,  _clawing_  for air—

 

"Y-You can't—kill— _me_ ," he spat. " _I_ am—"

 

"Replaceable," came the voice from the metal mask.

 

The hate and antagonism ebbed away from Hux's face, now overcome with a stirring, desperate fear. And what made it all the more worse was the realization that Snoke was not stopping him.

 

_No—he can't—Ren never—no, he would never before—he can't—_

 

Thoughts scrambled this way and that, all blaring through his heightened adrenaline—now on a full fight for survival. He tried to think of something— _anything_ —that would bring him air—even the slightest bit—but Ren was too strong, his grip growing _tighter_ —

 

_Ren._

 

Why?

 

He would never do this before. Never. Hux was general, after all. Ren would manhandle his inferiors and the officers accordingly, but never him, and never like  _this_ —

 

Pain bloomed deep in Hux's throat. He gave one last gasp, one last attempt to inhale oxygen—

 

He met nothing but an unseen block.

 

 _I'm going to die_ , he realized.  _This is it. He is really going to kill me._

 

_How... unexpected._

 

Ren was not sadistic. He was emotional. He got angry. He got enraged. He killed because of it. But he was not sadistic.

 

And as Hux kneeled there, clutching the last remnants of his life, his eyes reddening with blood and his lips a chilling blue, he realized that part of Ren he once knew—that anger—that grief—had completely died away. Nothing stood beneath the dark cloak but pure metal. Pure robot. Pure droid. Pure  _unfeeling_. Snoke had done away with the passionate weakling, and replaced him with a cold, detached killer.

 

Just as death began to shroud him, Hux heard the faint drone of Snoke's voice.

 

"That will do, Ren."

 

The block in his throat vanished. Hux collapsed to the floor, in a fit of wheezing and coughing. Air never felt so sweet, air he never thought he would taste again.

 

"Get up, General." It was an order.

 

Hux weakly pushed himself off the ground. His head spun and the dark spots in his eyes still hadn't faded away, but he somehow got his legs to stabilize beneath him. He did not dare look at Kylo Ren, though from the corner of his eye he could see he was just standing there, perfectly still, as if nothing intense had transpired between them.

 

He didn't dare look at Snoke, either. He didn't want to know what he would see if he did.

 

"You will not endanger the fate of the First Order, again, General," the hologram spoke. "If the Resistance finds this base, you will be held solely responsible, and your purpose to the First Order will be reevaluated. Go. Leave us."

 

Hux ducked his head and left without a word. He tried to walk slower, so it was less evident how rattled and blanched he was, but he could still feel the weight of his master's eyes look straight through him like glass.

 

He would not stop until he had reached the far, quiet seclusion of his chambers.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

The entryway locked behind the general's exit, filling the vault with silence.

 

Snoke was plainly pleased. Not with Hux's foolishness of course, but with his apprentice. The years of finalizing his training had come to fruition. Kylo Ren was a changed man. Snoke knew he would be difficult to tame from the moment he was born. He had the blood of a Jedi, formed of both light and dark. And though he was easy to seduce to the dark side, the light still burned within him, haunting him.

 

But Snoke had remedied that. He suspected his apprentice would have trouble threatening Hux in such a manner, even with their bitter rivalry. He was pleasantly mistaken.

 

Kylo Ren  _was_  ready.

 

"The prophecy's time grows near," Snoke said. "I have trained you well for this."

 

The masked man returned. "Your guidance has made me strong."

 

"Yes. And with it, you will rise to become the chosen one, the savior of the First Order."

 

Ren straightened. "I will slay him," he declared, monotonously. "I will slay my uncle and anyone who stands in our way. The dark side will be invincible under your authority, Supreme Leader. I will not stop until the prophecy has been fulfilled."

 

"Your uncle," Snoke mentioned. "He hides, now. His Force signature has disappeared once more. Have you felt it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"He hides in cowardice." The walls shook. "Skywalker has seen the prophecy. Your former master… your uncle… he understands it will mean his death."

 

Ren tilted back his head, the metal lines in his mask echoing the foggy, blue color of Snoke's hologram.

 

"He cannot hide forever," Ren vowed. "He  _will_  die. I will make sure of it."

 

Snoke leaned back, gazing upon his pupil with utmost admiration. His eyes, two gangly, animalistic orbs—gleamed with something sinister, something spine-chilling.

 

"First, you must find him," he said. "You must  _ensnare_  him."

 

Ren's confidence soared. "All of our remaining forces will be dedicated to the search. Every planet investigated, every star turned. We will not rest until the hunt has been satisfied." There was a brief pause. "I will personally interrogate civilians myself. One of them is bound to know something about Skywalker's location."

 

"And there  _is_  one."

 

The masked man went silent, staring up at his master questioningly. Snoke leaned forward.

 

"His Padawan," Snoke went on. "His new apprentice. The  _girl_."

 

The old Sith felt a shift in the Force, a stirring. He recognized it coming from his apprentice, his previously impassive man, now simmering with low-burn hatred.

 

"I can kill her."

 

Snoke paused.

 

"The girl," Ren said. "I can kill her."

 

Snoke droned, disapproving his apprentice's sudden change in mood. He had been doing so well—keeping his emotions removed. Now this hatred, as justified, was a distraction and brought him closer to the light—to  _sentiment_. It would have to be remedied again before Ren initiated his search plans.

 

"She must die," Snoke said. "Yes. But she serves a purpose alive, for now. She is the only one who has come face to face with Skywalker. She holds information to where the Jedi is and where he plans to go."

 

He could feel the anger welling within Ren, the hate. The time withdrawn had not quenched his desire for vengeance. The girl— that mere scavenger— had defeated _him_. She  _wounded_  him. She  _scarred_  him. And Snoke suspected if Ren got his way, he would never cross paths with her or waste another thought on her again.

 

And if he did, he would destroy her.

 

But before Snoke could reprimand him for entertaining these heated, sentimental thoughts, the masked man contained them himself, until even Snoke could not feel the slightest lick of hate.

 

"Then I will find her," Ren said. "I will find her and she will give me the information I want."

 

Snoke's fingers curled back into his robes, preparing to take his leave. The hologram slowly began to cut out.

 

"Find her," the Sith droned. "And through her, you will fulfill the prophecy."

 

"Where must I look?"

 

Snoke extended a long, bony finger to him. "Look within yourself, my apprentice.  _Feel_ her. She is Force sensitive. You will sense where she is."

 

The mask turned down, towards the floor. Snoke merely watched, the static spitting louder, as he waited for his pupil's inevitable, perfect result.

 

The mask suddenly turned up.

 

" _Mirrin Prime."_

 

* * *

 

**X**

 


	5. A Clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

Her fingers slid down her stomach, relishing the feel of the smooth satin. She couldn't say she had ever worn anything like this in her life. These were the kind of outfits found on trading cards at Unkar Plutt's trading post, the pictures of important political figures with elaborate gowns and white, porcelain faces. A stark contrast to her usual, colorless rags.

 

She stood in front of the mirror, twisting back and forth to watch the waves of her dress ripple like wind. It came in a royal purple color— rich and dark, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that fell long past her wrists. A large, silver pendant sat between her breasts, and another on the back of her waist, where the dress tailed off in a flurry of fan-styled ruffles down to her feet.

 

Then, her hair. Somehow they had managed to tame it. The top half was slicked back into a clean, round bun—much neater than her loose, triple knot style—while the rest of it cascaded down her spine in soft, heavenly curls.

 

Rey exhaled the breath she'd been holding in.

 

She looked… well, beautiful.

 

They actually made _her_  beautiful.

 

Her escorts, two humanoid females with red scales began cleaning up their beauty merchandise in the back. She wasn't sure how Leia had managed to set her up with them so fast, but they were direct and knew exactly what had to be done.

 

Rey tore her eyes from the mirror. "Are you sure this isn't too formal?"

 

One of them smiled, as if they knew something she didn't. "The Chancellor likes pretty women," she told her. "It is not too formal."

 

Rey wasn't sure what to make of that but didn't question further. They were the experts, after all. They knew what they were doing.

 

The last shuttle to Mirrin Prime was packed with all types of people—some mechanics, some commanders, and many X-wing pilots that hadn't prepared fast enough to ride with the rest of their team. Then there was her, the girl hardly anyone remembered, wearing a long, shimmering dress made for a queen. It was difficult for her to tolerate the stares. She wished Finn and Poe were there to restrain her from knocking someone's teeth in, but they had both caught an earlier shuttle with Leia.

 

The ship propelled into hyperspace, and the planet of Mirrin Prime was upon them in seconds.

 

Rey peered out the window. She couldn't say she had ever come across a planet quite like this one. It was extraordinary, in an industrial sort of way. Tall, prominent buildings stuck out from the ground, surrounded by shorter housing organizations and domed shaped structures. The city was rare of trees, but the streets were full of people, with other shuttles winding through the air like autumn leaves. How the city managed to house so many creatures in such a tight space was beyond Rey.

 

Their shuttle descended to a landing flat on the tallest structure, the one with towering, glass windows and a pale grey exterior. A creature in red came out to escort them inside.

 

"Welcome to Mirrin Prime," he bowed low. "The Chancellor is expecting you."

 

They held the banquet on the very top floor where the only walls were colossal windows with sunlight streaming in from all sides. Visitors packed the room. It reminded her a bit of Maz Kanata's castle on Takodana, though the smugglers and dirty fiends from the slums would never set foot in a place like this. It was much too lavish. Too formal. Everyone was elegantly dressed, and though there were a few loud hoots, they were tame and hardly heard above the other chatter.

 

Rey stood in the doorway while the others rejoined their teams. She couldn't believe people actually lived like this. To have enough money to have tapestries, and feasts, and their names printed so eloquently in the walls. It almost didn't seem real.

 

She began scanning the room for a familiar face when she heard his voice.

 

" _Wow_."

 

Finn openly gaped at her, much too in awe to even bother hiding it. He was wearing a similar suit to the other pilots, a dark grey with silver clasps. He'd also found the drinks, she noticed, since he was holding a half filled wine glass.

 

Rey scratched the back of her neck, as if she could scratch away her embarrassment.

 

"I know," she muttered. "It's ridiculous."

 

"It's pretty," he countered.

 

She blushed harder. She hated this. At least on Jakku, she was able to hide under loose-fitted clothing and years of caked on grime. That had never made her the object of so many male stares.

 

Sensing her discomfort, Finn cleared his throat and changed the subject.

 

"Some banquet, huh?" was his poor attempt.

 

Rey shrugged. "I guess. I just got here."

 

"Yeah."

 

Some silence.

 

"Where's Leia?" she asked.

 

Finn used his wine glass to gesture towards the crowd. "She's over there with Poe. They've been talking with the boss for a long time."

 

Rey found them mingling in the center. Leia wore a long, regal gown with her hair in their usual knots. Poe Dameron stood beside her, well engaged in a conversation with a taller, older man wearing violet robes with a head as bald and smooth as an egg. Based on his attire and overall presence, she deduced he could only be the Chancellor.

 

"She's worried, isn't she?" Finn eyed Leia's movements. "I can tell. It's distracting her."

 

Rey's chest constricted. "It's distracting all of us."

 

"I just don't understand why. It doesn't make any sense. Why would he just… disappear?"

 

"I don't know."

 

She still hadn't managed to wipe Luke's absence from her mind. The feeling had been so strong—so  _empty_ —and Leia had felt it, too. She feared the worst when she met that frantic look in Leia's eyes, but fortunately, it wasn't what she thought. Luke was still alive. But he was gone. Disappeared—just like after the destruction of his Jedi academy. He did not want to be found. And for Rey, perhaps that was as good as being dead.

 

She was a Jedi Padawan, the last surviving trainee of the infamous Luke Skywalker, one of the few remaining Force-sensitive individuals in the entire galaxy—and even she with all her powers could not sense her master.

 

"What did the General think?" Finn asked.

 

Rey sighed. "Well, she knows there's hope. Luke only disappeared, meaning he can be found again. I told her once we return to D'Qar that I'll go back to the island to try and find him, but I doubt he'll be there."

 

"Where else would he go?"

 

She couldn't say. She probably knew him better than his own sister at that point but she still couldn't say.

 

"Where I would not think of finding him,” she solemnly finished.

 

Finn nodded, his eyes dead set in determination.

 

"I'll go with you.”

 

She blinked. "But your training—"

 

"I'm sure General Organa can spare one measly pilot," he said with a smile. "Besides. What you're doing is way more important to the Resistance. Luke Skywalker outweighs X-wing training any day."

 

"Not if the First Order attacks," she pointed out.

 

"They won't," he said. "They're too weak for that."

 

Rey remembered her similar thinking before. She assumed the First Order had fallen apart after they destroyed their base and it would take them years to rebuild, if they could at all. The Dark Side lulled in such silence that it felt nonexistent.

 

But her master had been adamant about their return. Luke believed they would be an even greater threat, and for all she knew, that might have been the reason he disappeared.

 

Leia met her eyes through the crowd and smiled faintly. Rey started to smile back, until she realized Poe had managed to pop in front of them without her noticing.

 

"Looking good, Rey," he nodded, his hair tight and slicked back.

 

"You too," she returned. She worried he would give her reason to blush again, but fortunately he had already turned his attention to Finn.

 

"What do you got there?" he slapped his arm.

 

Finn shrugged. "Just wine. Want the rest?"

 

"If you're offering."

 

Poe took the glass and downed it. Rey bit her lip to hide her smirk. She'd been around enough scavengers to know when one was drunk, and she feared Poe Dameron was on that very road.

 

"Convince him yet?" Finn asked, gesturing to the Chancellor.

 

"Effortless," Poe said. "He's as dimwitted as a happabore. I told him we won every battle and he believed it. Old fool. Doesn't even bother checking the facts." He brought the glass to his lips, forgetting it was empty. "Anyway, looks like we got it all wrapped up. He's sending a few squadrons with us back to base. He'll be sending more later."

 

"That's good," Finn said.

 

Poe motioned to Rey. "He wants to talk to you next. Just keep at a distance. He spits. Maybe save the General too, if you can."

 

"I'll do my best," she said.

 

Poe excused himself to refill Finn's wine glass. She noticed the way Finn watched after him as he disappeared into the sea of other guests. They'd always been close, but now it seemed as if they shared something more. A close bond, perhaps.

 

Finn cleared his throat to admit. "He kissed me earlier."

 

Rey's eyes widened. Maybe a bond was an understatement.

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh." Rey tossed around possible things to ask him in silence. Finally, "Well… what did you do?"

 

"Nothing, really."

 

"You didn't say anything?"

 

Finn dropped his head. "After it happened… I told him I wasn't ready for that. They don't teach us that stuff in the stormtrooper training programs. We hear things and we see things, but… it's not like we were developed to have relationships, you know?" He sighed. "So that's what I told him. He said he understood and would wait for me."

 

Rey nodded, though she didn't quite understand herself.

 

"Do you want him to wait?" she asked.

 

Finn shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's… difficult. One, I don't have any experience with this. And two, well…" he scratched the back of his head. "I, uh… was kind of waiting for someone else."

 

Rey felt her stomach plummet. The idea that Finn was hoping for something to blossom between them awakened an old fear in her. She couldn't understand why exactly—only that it felt worse than Luke’s disappearance.

 

"Oh," was all Rey said, trying to sound indifferent. She hoped her voice didn't betray what she suspected.

 

Fortunately, Finn didn't say anymore.

 

They eventually retreated to the banquet table for food and brushed off the awkwardness by catching up. They both weren't particularly social people, so they stayed in their own little corner, eating and laughing at each other's experiences in their absence. She allowed Finn to talk more than she did, since the food was divine and she wanted to devour as much of it as possible.

 

"—you wouldn't _believe_  how red his face was," Finn crackled, finishing the story of how him and Poe pulled a prank on a fellow X-wing pilot.

 

Rey laughed along, smiling like a fool, until she felt something deep in her chest.

 

A hitch. A lodge.

 

She stopped laughing.

 

She could breathe fine. Her chest felt fine. Her organs felt fine. Yet there was still something inside her—an eerie, dark chill. She blinked, holding onto the table for support, but the sensation just proliferated, spreading all throughout her body.

 

"Rey?" Finn frowned.

 

She swallowed. Her breath stilled.

 

_She remembered._

 

_She remembered that feeling._

 

"Rey?"

 

It seemed foreign at the time, but she didn't question it. All she knew was that it was the very thing driving her farther and farther into the Takodana forest.

 

She remembered clutching Han Solo's blaster, shaking, as she backed through the trees. She remembered her breathing, her frantic heartbeat, with the eerie silence of the forest swallowing her whole. She jumped at every little sound.

 

But it was not fear she felt.

 

It was the feeling that something was coming after her.

 

And she knew it. She  _felt_  it.

 

"Rey? Are you okay?"

 

She ignored Finn, gazing around the room for some sort of explanation. The entire scene was bathed in sunlight. The guests laughed blissfully—eating together, sharing stories together. Even Leia didn't seem to notice a change.

 

"I'm fine, Finn," she finally said.

 

"You sure? I can get you something to drink."

 

Rey didn't remember agreeing, but Finn got up and left. She blinked harder, trying to snap herself out of it.

 

 _This is crazy_ , she thought.  _I'm going crazy. Get yourself together!_

 

She remembered the way her blood ran as cold as ice, her fingers trembling on the trigger. Electricity flared to life, but she couldn't tell which direction it came from. It seemed to be everywhere, taunting her, hunting her…

 

She had backed herself into the crevice when he emerged, that terrible nightmare of hers, wielding a burning lightsaber of fiery red. He stalked towards her with terrifying calmness.

 

 _That nightmare_.

 

_Him._

 

"No," she whispered.

 

"What?" she hadn't noticed Finn's return. "Rey, are you sure you're—?"

 

"The last Jedi Padawan!" came a booming, friendly voice.

 

The Chancellor weaved through the crowd, out to where Rey and Finn sat by the windows. The crowd around him quieted, staring at her curiously. It took all of her strength to wipe the dread from her face.

 

"No…" the Chancellor exhaled, astonished. "This cannot be her. This  _cannot_."

 

Leia emerged with him. "It is," she said. "This is Rey, my brother's Padawan. She's very talented. She's fluent in many languages, an expert mechanic, a weapon wielder—"

 

"And a  _beauty_ ," the Chancellor cut in, his eyes raking down her form. "Simply stunning. A  _divine_  pleasure to have you here with us, my dear."

 

Rey's ears burned. If he were anyone less important, she would have pummeled his face in for looking at her like that—especially in front of so many people. But he was practically royalty there, and Leia needed his support. Smacking him would have done little good.

 

She masked her contempt with a polite smile. "Thank you."

 

He took her hand, and Rey could see what Poe meant about the spitting. "Tell me, Rey—what is it like being Force-sensitive? What can you feel? Can you feel every living thing? Everything that goes on?"

 

Her smile turned tight. "I'm still only a Padawan."

 

"You must be powerful," he insisted. "Please. Do us the honor of showing us a demonstration."

 

The guests around him clapped in encouragement. Rey hesitated, looking to Leia for an intervention, but she remained stoic.

 

Luke wouldn't have liked this. He always said that the Force was an energy field, used only by Jedis for knowledge and defense—not for power. Not for some grand gesture of strength. Only users of the dark side used it for those reasons.

 

But since no one came to save her, she reluctantly acquiesced.

 

 _One little gesture_ , she told herself.  _That's all I will do._

 

She focused on a piece of furniture nearby, a table with golden legs. In seconds, the delicate thing was hovering in the air, up towards the ceiling.

 

Applause came from every corner of the room. The guests were bright with awe, marveling at this new form of entertainment. Even Finn, who stood beside in her silence, gave her a proud smile.

 

But despite receiving so much admiration for her Jedi gifts, she couldn't bring herself to feel grateful. She only felt anxious—distant, even, from the room's splendor. The feeling pulsed with more fervor than before. And no matter how she tried to ignore it, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were all in terrible danger.

 

She lowered the table back to the floor.

 

"Incredible!" the Chancellor marveled. "Absolutely enchanting!"

 

Rey stumbled backwards, unable to hide the tenseness in her body any longer. Finn caught her arm, but his voice seemed miles away. The Chancellor and the guests dispersed from view, but Leia surged forward, suddenly recognizing that something was wrong with her.

 

"Rey?" she asked, holding her. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

 

Rey stammered. "I'm not sure, I… I don't—"

 

"Finn, get her some water," the general ordered. "She looks like she's going to pass out."

 

"Yes, General."

 

While Finn disappeared, Leia helped lower her into a chair. "Tell me what's wrong, child," she urged. "Was it the demonstration you did? Was that what triggered it?"

 

"No," Rey shook her head. "No—it… I feel… something…"

 

"What do you feel?"

 

Rey couldn't form words. Instead she just stared at the elder woman, pleadingly, trying to make her understand.

 

Leia's eyes suddenly glazed over. The world around them stopped spinning.

 

"Ben," she breathed.

 

The sunlight vanished from the windows, shadowed by something unseen. Leia grabbed her arm—just as the head of a space shuttle buried itself into the banquet hall.

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

Rey wasn't sure how long she was out.

 

A couple seconds, maybe.

 

When she started to come to, chaos was everywhere. She was lying in a puddle of broken glass, cuts glittering down her arms. Her large gown had been a bit of a cushion for her, but not much. Wads of her hair had come loose— curls dribbling down her eyes and lips. The air reeked of smoke.

 

Everyone was screaming. Several were already dead from the impact, strewn across the elegant floors and bathing it with their blood. She even caught a glimpse of the Chancellor, now lying facedown—blood glugging out from the back of his head and staining his robes.

 

Rey closed her fingers, the ghost of Leia's hold growing cold. She weakly pushed herself up on her elbows, searching for her, but Leia was nowhere to be found.

 

Stormtroopers had already filed out of the shuttle, blasting their firearms at any remaining survivors. There seemed to be quite a few. Several X-wing pilots had gotten hold of weapons and returned the fire from behind the tipped over banquet table. Fortunately for her, she had lost consciousness far from the crossfire.

 

Rey struggled to her feet, pain exploding from all parts of her body. She could only look around, disoriented, as she watched the ruins of a once beautiful scene.

 

 _How could I let this happen_? She idly wondered. She was Luke's Padawan—a _Jedi_  Padawan—and she had let them massacre innocent people.

 

A red flash zoomed by her face, missing her by inches.

 

She whirled around.

 

A stormtrooper advanced, his weapon raised. He fired again, and this time, she had to throw herself to the side to dodge it. She scrambled to her feet and ducked behind another table, her heart pounding in her ears.

 

 _Think_ , she urged herself.  _You've been trained. You can handle them. Now show it._

 

She locked herself in position, harnessing her adrenaline to her advantage. Even with his blaster ready and in place, he was no match for Rey's unseen force, which threw him back out of the window in a shower of glass.

 

Exhaling, Rey grabbed a nearby dinner knife and slashed her dress from below her shins. The damned thing restricted her movement, and she wasn't about to die because she couldn't get around properly. She kicked off the train and peered out from behind the table, searching for more targets.

 

More stormtroopers spilled from the ship's mouth. Other shuttles were whizzing past the building, some braking slow enough to pick up survivors. Most X-wing pilots stayed, determined to fight back.

 

She scanned the room of bodies for Finn and Poe.

 

_Not there. Not there. Thankfully, not there…_

 

_Where were they?_

 

Rey began moving out, until she heard her name behind her. A shuttle hovered just outside the broken window, with an unfamiliar pilot stretching his hand out to her. His clothing was Resistance. Survivors huddled behind him in the back.

 

"Get in!" he urged.

 

She frowned, demanding. "Where's Leia?"

 

"We picked her up already, she's safe!" he shouted back. "She ordered me to find you."

 

Rey surged forward and grasped his hand, until she remembered. "What about Finn? Is he with you?"

 

"Haven't seen him," he was growing impatient. "Come on! I'm sure someone picked him up already."

 

Rey dared a glance behind her, hesitating.

 

_What if they hadn't found him, yet? What if he was still there? What if he needed help?_

 

" _Come on_!" the pilot screamed.

 

Too late.

 

The exchange hadn't been secret for long. Stormtroopers shot relentlessly at the shuttle, determined to knock it clean out of the air. As Rey ducked for cover, she lost hands with the pilot, and the entire shuttle veered away from the window and took a lethal nosedive. Rey could hear the faint wails of the survivors as it pummeled to the ground, ablaze with smoke.

 

Fear, guilt, and horror hit her all at once.

 

" _No_!" she screamed after it. She could only watch in utter helplessness, hundreds of stories above as it met the ground in flames.

 

Rey let out a strangled cry.

 

_She did that. It was her fault._

 

_They were all dead because of her. Her!_

 

She whirled back around, hell bent on taking out all the stormtroopers responsible. On her life, she would kill every last one of them, peace be damned. They were way past civil diplomacy, now. They were going to get what they deserved.

 

But even as her hands filled with energy, everything within her paralyzed the second she looked past the haze of smoke and battle and saw a dark, hooded figure emerge from the ship.

 

Time slowed.

 

Wind rustled her dress. Curls fell in her eyes. And all the while, she could only watch as he joined the chaos below.

 

_The nightmare._

 

_Takodana. The prison cell. The battle in the snow._

 

_Kylo Ren._

 

His mask turned, and though they were nowhere near each other, Rey knew—she _knew_ —his eyes were on her only.

 

He ignited his lightsaber then, the burning red kindling the walls and the thick smoke around him. He began slashing through the survivors with ease, as if they were just roots and vines in his path.

 

Regaining her ability to move, Rey blasted the troopers out of her way and dove into the crack in the floor, down to the lower level opened from the ship's impact. More survivors and troopers fought below, but none were close enough to notice her and give her significant trouble.

 

She ran across the tile, leaving a trail of blood where the soles of her feet had kissed broken glass. Her adrenaline peaked as she frantically searched for Finn and Poe.

 

 _Don't fight Kylo Ren—just get out_ , she chanted in her head.  _Find Finn and get out._

 

Bodies were everywhere. Rey lost count of how many she stepped over. The sight made her sick, but she forced herself to continue on, to ignore them and only focus on finding her friends. She called out their names from every room she passed, screaming them. Nothing.

 

Finally, an answer.

 

"Rey!"

 

" _Finn_!"

 

She found him against a wall, kneeling next to Poe Dameron. Finn had a couple cuts on his arms and forehead, but he seemed relatively unharmed. Poe, meanwhile, was slumped against the wall with a gaping wound in his shoulder, matted with dark blood. Finn held an abandoned jacket on his wound for him, but it seemed to be doing little good.

 

She breathed out, relieved she'd found them.

 

"What happened?"

 

Finn stared up at her, desperate. "He saved my life," he said. "I don't know what to do—can you help him?"

 

Rey knelt down. "Keep the jacket on him," she ordered. "Press on it—tight. Poe? Poe—can you hear me?"

 

The pilot moaned, his face pasty and paling.

 

"We need to get him out of here," Finn urged. "We have to get him to a surgeon or something—"

 

"Help him up," she said. "We'll get him out, but we need to get to a window. Hopefully they haven't gunned down all the Resistance shuttles, yet. That's our best chance."

 

Finn started to heave Poe up under his shoulders, but Poe let out a pained hiss.

 

"J—just—go," the pilot stammered through his teeth. "B—both of you—"

 

"We're not leaving you behind," Finn insisted.

 

Overhearing them, a pair of stormtroopers emerged from the smoke. Rey shot her hand out and they both went flying backwards. She exhaled, the hopelessness of the situation beginning to overwhelm her. They didn't have much time—and she couldn't hold them all off.

 

"Move him behind that door," she commanded. "If we can't get to the window, we'll have to hide and wait them out. I'll hold them off as best I can."

 

Since that seemed to be their only reasonable plan, Finn obliged. He dragged Poe after him into the small vault, while Rey locked it behind them and kept watch. Sounds of screams and blaster shots were muffled from behind the door.

 

"How did they know we were here?" she heard Finn ask.

 

She closed her eyes. "I don't know. But Leia's son is here, too. I saw him."

 

Finn cursed under his breath. "You felt him coming before, didn't you? We should've known."

 

Rey didn't give herself time to ponder it. "It doesn't matter now."

 

"Well—we're screwed, then. It's over."

 

Hearing something outside, she shushed him. It had grown eerily quiet. She wasn't sure if that meant the troopers had finally killed all the remaining survivors, or if everyone had left the floor. Either way, it didn't give her the confidence to check. She stayed where she was, crouched in silence.

 

Suddenly, the door burst off the hinges with startlingly force, sending her flying back towards Finn and Poe. She hit something hard—the wall, probably—and she crumpled to the ground in numbing pain.

 

Everything went blurry. She stared up at the ceiling, feebly trying to move her arms, but it seemed impossible. The pain was paralyzing. There was no use trying to stand up and fight. She wouldn't be moving for a long,  _long_  time.

 

A shadow fell over her.

 

She vaguely heard the sound of his boots entering the room, a dark, thunderous tread. He stared down at her limp figure sprayed across the floor, lying in a fan of purple fabric and tangled hair.

 

Rey finally closed her eyes, succumbing to the pain.

 

She let the darkness have her.

 

* * *

 

**X**


	6. A Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

_These are your first steps…_

 

_No! Come back!_

 

_You need a teacher! I can show you the ways of the Force!_

 

_Never forget the light, Rey._

 

_You're a monster!_

 

_It's just us now._

 

… _just us now._

 

… _just us…_

 

… _us…_

 

She suddenly lurched up, gasping for air as if she'd been underwater.

 

Light. Air. Pain.

 

_Pain._

 

Her muscles tightened.

 

She started to move her arms, only to meet iron restraint on her wrists. She tried moving her feet, too, but met similar resistance on her ankles.

 

Defeated, she slumped back into her restraints. She would not fight them. Not now. Not while her entire body ached with pain. Instead, she tried opening her eyes again, forcing them to adjust to the light.

 

Two faces swam into view, clearing more and more with each second passing. Eventually, she made one of them out to be a mask—a burnished chrome stormtrooper rather than the standard white. The other was human, but only just. His face was narrow and pale, almost sickly, while his hair shone red like a flame.

 

Rey rested her head against the wall behind her. She didn't recognize either of them, but they were evidently First Order from their uniforms.

 

It all started coming back to her.

 

_The banquet. The Chancellor. The invasion. The door—_

 

_Oh._

 

"Good. You've come to," the sickly officer said. His tone was snide and cruel. "Saves me the time of waking you myself."

 

Rey just stared at him.

 

She kept her face aloof, void of all emotion. Her voice came out as dry as a Jakku desert.

 

"Where are they?"

 

"The rogue traitor and the pilot?" he inferred, his eyebrows flying up. "Why, they're here, of course. Here with you. All in Hall 216. Torment Hall, we like to call it."

 

Rey tested her restraints again. Her cell seemed more primitive than the one before, with less machinery and devices—save for her restraining apparatus, which held her up in abrasive, metal fastenings.

 

Well. At least the officer was dumb enough to give away where her friends were. That would make it so much easier when she found a way to escape with them.

 

"Save your strength," he sneered at her attempt. "You aren't leaving anytime soon."

 

Rey scrutinized him closely, trying to sense a possible signature from him. She found none, just as she found nothing from the chrome stormtrooper. Neither one was Force-sensitive.

 

 _Good_ , she thought. She would exploit that to her advantage.

 

"You can't keep us here," she said, her newfound confidence eclipsing her fear.

 

Her captor retorted. "I'm afraid we can."

 

Rey just smirked. His ignorance amused her. He really didn't realize who she was, did he? She was a trained Padawan. A trainee of Luke Skywalker. She managed to escape just fine the time before, and she would easily again. Especially since these so-called captors of hers were not Force-sensitive, it would give her an opportunity for more Jedi mind tricks.

 

Still holding his eyes to her, the officer spoke to the trooper.

 

"Captain—fetch the droid. I believe it is time to initiate the questioning."

 

"Yes, sir." The trooper turned robotically. Rey was relieved to hear a woman's voice beneath the helmet.

 

Instead of adhering to her captor's self-satisfied smirk, she dared a glance down her body. They'd removed her purple dress, leaving her in the simple, cream-colored chemise the escorts provided for her to wear underneath. The shift was strapless, and just barely reached the apex of her knees. She had to admit it made her a bit uncomfortable; she'd never been so exposed to anyone her whole life.

 

Her hair had come loose, too. Many curls remained intact—running down her shoulders in gentle, brown ringlets. She could only imagine what she looked like to them. Scarcely dressed, bruised, and cut up—with her hair in loppy, curled knots. She wished her restraints allowed her to at least tame it down and tie it back out of her eyes.

 

The door hissed open.

 

Following the captain inside was a pert, black interrogation droid. She'd only heard about these ones. On Jakku, there was a specific wasteland for interrogation droids, all the imperial IT-O's with their sharp, little twigs and buttons gone to waste. They'd been good for parts and were worth a formidable payment, but the scavengers eventually picked them all apart, leaving them in the sand as murky shells.

 

This one was an IT-3 Interrogator—an updated version. The exterior was dark and polished, much more intimidating than its precursor. If she were anywhere else, she would have liked to pluck one of those apart and study its contraptions.

 

The officer's lips twisted into another sneer. Rey wished she could slap it off him.

 

"We'll be asking you a few questions," he said. "I advise your full cooperation. It would be a shame to use this droid, but we will if necessary."

 

Rey gave him a rather unimpressed look. If Luke were in her place, the threat would have been laughable. One simply did not threaten a Jedi with sharp jabs and shocks. It wouldn't work.

 

"You can certainly try," she said.

 

"Then let's begin."

 

The captain activated the droid to intimidate her. The shell hissed and snapped, bloating out until it revealed an array of sharp gadgets and torture equipment. Two spikes towered at the acme for passing electric currents to the victim's face.

 

Rey felt a twinge of unease, but not enough to scare her into submission.

 

"We will begin with a simple, direct question. The Resistance base. Where is it?"

 

Rey frowned. The base? They already had that information. Back when she was a hostage on Starkiller Base, Finn told her they were preparing to obliterate D'Qar after they wiped out the Hosnian system. They were already aware of their enemies' whereabouts.

 

Besides, why were they asking  _her_ when they had two other X-wing pilots—two  _Resistance_  fighters in custody? It didn't make any sense to her.

 

"Did you forget?" she asked snidely.

 

The officer was not amused. "This is a test," he said, "to ensure the legitimacy of your answers."

 

 _Legitimacy_ , she scoffed in her head. Right. As if they had any power to determine her deceit from truth. Even their impressive IT-3 couldn't do that.

 

"So you're going to torture me for an answer you already have," she concluded.

 

"Give us what we want, and we will not have to."

 

Her confidence inflated. Fine, then.

 

"I'm no interrogator," she told them, "but if I was, I would not bother wasting my time with questions I already have answers to."

 

His face went red. "You're trying my patience. Tell us the location of your Resistance base, or the interrogation droid will find out. Either way, we will get the answers we want."

 

"I'm afraid I can't help you."

 

"You can," he insisted. "You _will_. We can even offer you compensation. Remember your friend—the pilot? His shoulder is quite wounded. If you cooperated, perhaps I could authorize to have it treated before he dies of infection."

 

 _Poe,_  she remembered.  _Poe's shoulder._

 

She started to answer until another figure emerged from the shadows.

 

"Do not reward her, General," came the deep, distorted voice from the mask. Kylo Ren moved out into view, tall and commanding in his metal disguise and dark robes. Her smile instantly dropped.

 

 _He'd been there that whole time? How? How was that possible?_  All that time she spent inspecting the officer and his captain—and she hadn't  _once_ picked up on his signature in the room. How had he managed to conceal himself so well?

 

Disbelief left her and caved to apprehension.

 

"She may be Force-sensitive, but she is not immune to pain," Ren went on. "If she cannot respond, we will punish her accordingly. Without leniency."

 

Rey chewed on her lip, trying to hide her discomfort. It would have been so much easier if it were just the general and captain interrogating her. She had the situation under control that way. But now that  _he_  was there, well… her odds of escaping were certainly slimmer.

 

Plus, she didn't reckon he would be all too genial since she defeated him in a lightsaber duel and slashed his face in half.

 

The man reddened further. "This is  _my_  interrogation, Ren."

 

"Then do it properly, General. The First Order will not yield to the power of a rudimentary scavenger."

 

 _That_  snapped Rey out of her silence.

 

"This  _scavenger_ split your face open," she said indignantly. "And I could have  _killed_  you if I wanted t—"

 

The slap stopped her short. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as her cheek simmered in pain. He hadn't even touched her—hadn't even  _moved_ —and somehow he was able to hurt her telepathically. He stood still, as if nothing had happened.

 

He curtly turned towards the general.

 

"Proceed with the questioning."

 

Rey's blood boiled. "Hit me all you want. It won't matter—"

 

Another slap. Warmth trickled from her lip. She tasted blood.

 

"Very well," the man said. "This is your final chance. Tell us the location of the Resistance base."

 

Rey spat out the blood, the pain fueling her anger.

 

"You won't hear one word from me.”

 

She expected another slap, but it never came. Instead, her masked captor repeated the words he said to her all that time before, back in another cell.

 

"We'll see," he droned.

 

The man nodded to the chrome officer. "Captain—inject the serum."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Rey struggled to relax in her restraints. She wanted to prove them wrong. All of them. They were fools if they thought they could break her like this. She was Luke's Padawan—his  _true_  Padawan—and they were all wasting their time.

 

The captain stuck a long needle in her arm, and she bit her lip to keep from flinching. _Come on Rey_ , she chastised. It was just a needle. This wasn't even the real torture, yet.

 

But the pain did not subside after the needle left her skin.

 

Something in the serum—that lumpy, purple liquid began to fill her body with a sickly, agonizing heat. Her head, which had been a minimal pain before, began to swell and burn, and her battlefield of cuts hissed like arthropod bites. Even her cheeks seemed to throb more.

 

_Great. They'd weakened her pain tolerance._

 

The droid moved up to her, as if to embrace her with its torture devices. She felt her restraining apparatus snap as it pushed her closer, and she braced herself, though she wasn't sure how. She just squeezed her eyes shut and kept her jaw locked, preparing for the coming pain.

 

 _Just a little pain_ , she told herself.  _Just a little bit—just to prove you can take it_.

 

What followed wasn't what she expected.

 

First, there was just silence. Then, she heard a faint humming that grew louder and louder, sizzling like electricity—

 

_ZAP._

 

The force of it knocked her face to the side. Searing pain followed, a terrible, numbing pain that enveloped her skin, her bones—

 

Another ensued. Her entire body jolted.

 

"Ah—!" she choked out, unable to restrain her voice.

 

Voltage drilled into her, again and again, stabbing,  _twisting_  like a dagger.

 

"It ends when you tell us," came a voice.

 

 _No_ , she urged herself.  _No—you can take it—you must—_

 

More pain.

 

Her muscles screamed, her body shook—

 

She heard Ren's voice. "Increase the voltage, Captain."

 

_Increase it?_

 

"Yes, sir."

 

_No—_

 

She opened her mouth to speak, to stop them, but she forced her lips shut. No. She could take it! She wasn't weak.  _She wasn't weak!_

 

Footsteps. Another dial initiated. The sparks died for a moment—too short a moment—before it returned with excruciating strength. Her head was thrown to the side again, nearly snapping her neck.

 

_Hot flesh. Burning. Seething. Ripping skin—twisting flesh—the pain—_

 

She began to scream.

 

Too much—it was too much. She had to make it stop.

 

Fortunately, the shocks desisted.

 

Rey opened her eyes, panting. Her entire face felt hot— her ears on fire. And everything just… hurt. It felt like someone had just punctured their way into her jaw with a screwdriver, leaving her teeth tingling and sore.

 

The general stood where he did before, plainly pleased, while Kylo Ren watched at his side, detached from everything.

 

"Ready to cooperate now?" he sneered.

 

Her hands curled into fists.

 

Oh, she  _hated_  them. If she weren't bound by those resilient restraints, she would have torn them all apart with her bare hands.

 

"You already have the answer," she said. "You already know it. There's no point in torturing me for it."

 

His eyebrows flew up. "Actually, I believe this method is becoming rather productive. Don't you agree, Ren?"

 

The mask turned, a robotic movement.

 

"A person's weakness is absolute," he said. "One way or another, it always shines through."

 

"I'm  _not_ weak," she bit out. "I'm a  _Jedi Padawan_."

 

His voice lowered. "You're no Padawan."

 

"I  _am_ ," she insisted.

 

"No. You are not. You are nothing."

 

Rey stared at him, incredulously. What was  _wrong_  with him? He wasn't like this before—not like she remembered. At least when he interrogated her on the base, he tried to be somewhat respectful. Hell—he even offered to be her teacher when she tried hacking his head off in the snow.

 

She couldn't believe this was the same man.

 

"I'm stronger," she returned, venomously. "Master Luke said so himself—"

 

A third slap. Her face dangled, the pain even worse from the shock remnants. She inhaled sharply.

 

"You think I care what he thinks?" his voice came cold and condescending. "He's a coward. He can't even face me himself."

 

Rey's insides simmered. How _dare_  he call Luke—his own uncle a  _coward_. He was the farthest thing from the word. He was powerful, and strong, and he could overpower his nephew in seconds if he wanted. She at least liked to think so.

 

The man intervened. "On the subject of Skywalker, we will move onto our next question—"

 

"No."

 

The general blinked. "Ren?"

 

"No," Ren said. "Make her answer your other question, first. I want to hear her say it."

 

Rey's heart sank. Her head pounded, overwhelmed from the previous agony. She wasn't sure she could take more of that pain, but it was her stubbornness that spoke for her, her determination not to give him the pleasure of seeing her weak.

 

"Never," she spat back.

 

He merely gestured to the captain. "Resume the droid."

 

Rey was thrust back into the devices, and seconds later the electricity attacked again.

 

The pain felt endless. Her head snapped, cracked, twitched,  _burned_. White hot pain exploded in her temples—her cheeks— _her eyes_ — and she thrashed and screamed against her restraints, begging for it to just end—

 

_Oh—it needed to stop._

 

It was so, so much  _worse_!

 

The voltage increased.

 

Rey wasn't sure how she was still alive. She felt it everywhere—throttling down her arms and legs, electrifying every vein in her body. And it was agony. Pure, unbearable  _agony_ —and oh—it was getting worse—and it  _hurt_ —

 

Her whole body was on fire.

 

"Come now, scavenger," came the man's petty voice. "Is all this pain really worth it?"

 

 _It's not_ , was her first thought. Nothing was worth this.  _Nothing_.

 

Her body jerked, convulsed, tightened. Her joints were so locked they felt like they would snap in half. Smoke hissed off her flesh—her  _burning flesh_ —!

 

The general's words began to coax her.

 

 _Just tell them_.  _It was useless information anyway—_

 

_No!_

 

She couldn't. She _couldn't_. She wasn't weak!

 

_Searing pain—face exploding—so hot—too hot—!_

 

Rey let out a scream of absolute agony.

 

_Just tell them. They already know the answer. You aren't giving anything away. You're just suffering for nothing._

 

_But…_

The voltage got higher, stronger.

 

It was simply too much. She needed the pain to end  _now_.

 

"D'Qar," she finally gasped out, succumbing. "It's—D—D'Qar—"

 

The electricity dimmed to a stop.

 

Rey exhaled, slumping forward. If it weren't for her restraints holding her, she would have collapsed to the floor—headfirst.

 

 _Heat_. So much heat. Her skin  _exuded_  red, hot as coals. She tried to swallow, but every bit of saliva had evaporated from her mouth. She could barely even get her jaw to move.

 

The man laughed, derisively. The sound drove nails through her heart.

 

"Well, Ren," he sounded pleasantly surprised. "I was mistaken. Perhaps you _can_  break a Force-wielder."

 

Ren merely said. "A predictable result."

 

"And to think  _she_  was believed to be a threat."

 

Rey couldn't stand it. If she had an ounce of strength left in her, she would have lashed out at them for mocking her. But she just… couldn't. She physically  _couldn't_. Her body would not obey her brain; all the connections were severed. She couldn't even move a finger.

 

 _They were wrong_ , she tried telling herself. She _was_  powerful—Luke told her so! She did them a favor by giving in. She only gave in to get to the  _real_ questions, the _real_  test—to show them how they wouldn't get anything out of her… and she… she…

 

But even Rey began to see how empty those words were. She had been powerless in the face of pain. Her! Luke's Padawan! Defeated by a common interrogation droid.

 

The thought was unbearable.

 

 _No matter how much it hurts_ , she silently vowed.  _No matter how much you bleed…_

 

 _You_  cannot  _give them anything else_.

 

"Since we're on a formidable track with the questioning," the man continued, "we'll move onto the next one. I want a list of any Skywalker allies."

 

Rey sagged in her restraints, the pain weighing her down. Now they wanted to know about Luke, expecting her to betray her own master.

 

Her limp fingers curled into fists again.

 

_She would rather die._

 

"Just kill me," she said, exhausted. "I'll never… tell you  _anything_ … about Luke."

 

The general laughed again. "The girl is spirited, I'll give her that," he made a point of turning directly to Ren. "I find it rather refreshing. By this point, they're usually bumbling and talking nonsense. At least the scavenger  _pretends_  to be heroic."

 

The mask turned. "Do not flatter her, General. Such a title should be reserved for someone who can withstand more than a few shocks."

 

Rey's strength returned in the form of untamed rage. "As if _any_  of you could withstand this in my position—"

 

The man just laughed further, enjoying himself too much. Rey's blood fueled, making her head throb more, but she didn't care.

 

"Why don't you just mind probe me like you did before? Why not just save yourself the time?"

 

"I could,” Ren said. “I'm choosing not to."

 

"Because you  _can't?_ Because you're too weak to do it?"

 

She braced herself for his slap, but again, nothing. Instead, he just looked back at the man as if he had grown bored of her insults.

 

"Finish the interrogation, Hux. Time is transitory. And we still have to interrogate FN-2187 and his pilot companion."

 

Rey's blood froze.

 

_No. They couldn't torture Finn and Poe like this. No!_

 

"You _monsters_ —don't you dare touch them! Just leave them alone!"

 

"Fret not,  _scavenger_ ," Hux smiled sickly. "They too will get their share of questions. Perhaps with your encouragement, they will cooperate and be saved from the suffering you face now." His voice hardened. "Tell me Skywalker's allies."

 

"You want to know his allies?" she said back. " _Fine_. You already know them. Leia Organa—his sister. And me. His Padawan. There you go. We are his only allies."

 

Her captors were silent for a moment, startled by her sudden compliance. The chrome captain turned to her general, waiting for further orders, but even he seemed baffled and unsure how to continue.

 

Finally, Hux asserted. "There must be more."

 

"None," she said. "It's just us two. We're the only ones he's ever made contact with."

 

Hux grew silent, actually considering her answer. She was almost surprised at how well she'd managed to throw them off.

 

All besides the masked man, who stood like a statue in the back. Though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt his stare melt right through her body, right through her shields, and right into her deceit.

 

Suddenly, something was inside her head, prodding her. It withdrew as quickly as it came.

 

"A lie," Ren told them.

 

Her hope plunged. Hux's eyebrows flew up.

 

"She lies," he said again. "There is more. She is suppressing it."

 

Even she blinked.  _What_? How was he able to get past her blocks so quickly? And so _easily_?

 

Had she just grown weaker since their last confrontation?

 

Hux's lip curled. "Initiate the other devices on the droid, Captain. We will not tolerate deceitful answers from our prisoner."

 

Rey's mind scrambled. She wanted to say something, anything, but all she could do was hang there in numbing awe.

 

Was she really so…  _weak_?

 

Shaking her head, she discarded the thought in case he was still inside her head. She wouldn't give him the pleasure.

 

"I told you everything I know," she tried again, desperate to sell it to Hux. "You're wasting your time. Leia is the only one I—"

 

Another slap cut her off. Pain rushed to her cheek, rippling the already reddened, scorching flesh. Tears filled her eyes, but she furiously blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

 

Even Hux was having none of her rubbish.

 

"Start the droid," he said. "Highest level. This is going to be a nice, long punishment."

 

Her restraining apparatus inched forward again. Rey thrashed against her restraints—refusing— _refusing_  to face anymore of that pain. She didn't know how—but she knew she was  _not_  going to take any more tormenting shocks.

 

Her mind scrambled for a solution.

 

_Get yourself out of this—don't let them do this to you again— you're stronger than all of them—don't let it hurt you—!_

 

Unfortunately, the captain's finger came faster than a logical plan.

 

In seconds, the electricity unleashed—maiming, devouring, mutilating—

 

She screamed up at the ceiling, begging for someone—a _nyone_  to get her out of this horrible, horrible pain—

 

_Luke! Master Luke—please! Help me! Someone—help me!_

 

She tried recalling a memory—a method—something that he taught her that could repeal it—

 

_Nothing!_

 

Everything in her screamed.

 

_Ohohoh—it hurt so, so bad!_

 

_HELP!_

 

Her eyes flashed open, stunned from the unbearable, unattainable agony. She stared back at the torture droid, watching it destroy her, watching it _kill_  her—

 

_A man's voice. His calming, soothing voice._

 

" _When a Jedi is in danger…"_

 

Her flesh was ripping—shredding—splitting open—

 

Blood—

 

"… _he must feel his surroundings…"_

 

Her eyes opened wide, her screams caught in the air.

 

"… _he must feel the Force…"_

 

Blood dripping, her blood, dripping onto the droid—

 

"… _he must feel the danger…"_

 

The droid hissed, cackled, laughed at her. Laughing—

 

"… _and only then…"_

 

Her fingers dug into her palms—she looked past the electricity—

 

"… _and only then…"_

 

An unseen tension gathered overhead.

 

"… _then…!"_

 

The droid. THE DROID.

 

Her focus narrowed.

 

"… _then…!"_

 

Something in the room burst—exploding with a great, erupting _crunch_. Rey cringed, shutting her eyes from the raining wreckage.

 

Her nostrils filled with smoke.

 

She opened her eyes.

 

The shell of the opened IT-3 trembled in front of her, utterly broken as smoke slithered from its metal corpse. She could only blink in amazement, watching as the voltage died in tiny, electric spasms.

 

Rey let out a cry of relief.

 

Amusement dropped from Hux's face. "Captain!?" he spluttered.

 

The captain surged forward, desperately trying to mend the wreckage, but there was nothing she could do. She flipped the switches on and off. Nothing.

 

"It's ruined, sir," she declared the inevitable.

 

" _Ruined_?" Hux seethed.

 

"The interior is destroyed. There's nothing I can do."

 

"These are  _your_  droids, Captain. Your reports claimed that these were well tested and negated of any interior problems—!"

 

"Sir, they  _were_  tested—"

 

Rey listened to them bicker in sweet silence. It didn't matter what excuse they conjured up. She knew she was the one that broke it. No interior problem could have damaged it so thoroughly. It was  _her_  strength alone that did it.

 

And now it could not hurt her anymore.

 

Blood skated down her arms in red ribbons, stemmed from her cuts on Mirrin Prime. Though they stung, the sight of them made her swell with pride. After all they tried to do, she was still able to fight back. She never had to betray Luke.

 

But her victory was short lived.

 

Suddenly, an unseen force seized her, hurling her against her restraints and up to the ceiling in silent agony. Her muscles contracted involuntarily, contorting every possible limb. She could only watch as the masked man's outstretched hand took violent control, replacing the droid's.

 

"Skywalker's allies," he ordered.

 

Rey ground her teeth together, trying to fight his control over her body, but his influence was unstoppable. His grip was hard and unyielding and _raw_.

 

"Why are you doing this?" she cried out, finally triggered to tears. "Why are you doing this to me?"

 

His hand flexed, pain shooting up her spine.

 

"Why would I not?" he said, indifferent. "You mean nothing to me."

 

"You were different before!"

 

"Weaker, perhaps."

 

Rey wanted to scream in frustration, to scream at everyone—but she could barely control her own jaw. Something in his grip throttled her—strangled her—as if he were personally  _crushing_  every wound inside her—

 

"Skywalker's allies," he ordered again.

 

Tears of shame raked down her cheeks, so many tears, and nothing could stop them. The pain was so strong she just wanted to  _die_  already—

 

"STOP IT!" she screamed at him. "Just  _stop it_!"

 

"Tell me first."

 

" _Please_!" she begged him, begging with everything in her. " _Please_ , just—"

 

Metal mashing against flesh, her fingers bending, her knees twisting—

 

"Tell me."

 

_Tell him._

 

_No!_

 

"You will tell me." His voice was calm. So calm.

 

Rey bawled, hating him, hating  _herself_  for what she knew she was going to do.

 

_No! Don't let him win! You're strong! You're strong!_

 

But the words meant nothing. Empty words would not stop her pain. And she couldn't think of anything else, other than  _it had to stop_.

 

Finally, she relented.

 

"Maz—" she wheezed. " _Maz_ —"

 

Hux’s voice. "Maz who?"

 

"Please—"

 

Her body jerked, mounting higher—

 

"Maz Kanata!" she screamed. "Maz Kanata—Takodana—alright? Please, just stop it, now—"

 

"Who else?" Ren's voice.

 

"I don't—I don't know anyone else—"

 

"Lies, Ren?"

 

"No! I'm not—I swear—he can check himself—I _swear_ —"

 

Something entered her mind again. This time it took its time, but Rey was too weak to even think about fighting it off.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Ren's hold vanished.

 

Rey collapsed in an exhausted heap, her vision completely blurred from the tears. Hair fell in her face, sweaty, ringlets of hair that curtained her face from view. She couldn't believe anyone could survive that much pain before death. Even getting stabbed repeatedly with a lightsaber seemed preferable to what she was facing now.

 

Rey weakly closed her eyes, hanging her head.

 

_She betrayed the Resistance. She betrayed Maz._

 

_She betrayed Luke._

 

She listened idly to the movement around her. The captain seemed to be collecting the last of the IT-3 remnants, while Ren and Hux exchanged words that were too quiet for her to overhear. Not that she cared.

 

"What do you think?" Hux said, loud enough for her to overhear. "Should we ask her the big question now? Skywalker's whereabouts?"

 

_Oh, please no._

 

Ren replied. "Tomorrow. Skywalker can wait. I'll have a squadron sent down to Takodana tonight." The door hissed open and she heard his boots exiting the room. "Captain, fetch another droid and have it installed in the next cell. We won't be experiencing any interior problems with FN-2187."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

_Finn…_

 

She listened to them follow him out, unable to move. She didn't even bother trying. Everything in her ached with utter exhaustion. Utter pain. Utter betrayal.

 

The door hissed shut again. Bolts locked in place—sealing her initial ideas of escape with an echoing, dooming  _thud_.

 

Then silence.

 

Just silence.

 

* * *

 

**X**


	7. A Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

Rey couldn't sleep.

 

She tried. She'd been there for hours, sprawled across the floor in a puddle of bruised limbs and tangled hair, guilt and exhaustion hovering over her body like a ghost.

 

Rey curled her knees to her chest, whimpering with pain. Some of it had ebbed away, but most of it lingered. Every little movement hurt, reminded her. Reminded her of what they did to her body.

 

_Weak._

 

Rey closed her eyes, trying to banish any late tears. No. No more crying. She'd already done more than enough of that. After they left, her metal apparatus released her and she landed on her arms— the impact only fueling her agony. She let herself cry then, her isolation at least giving her the privacy to do that. She let it all out, crying and crying until she couldn't feel her face anymore.

 

 _Weak_ , he'd called her.

 

And weak she had been.

 

What would Luke say? What would he think? Three long years of training had been for nothing. Three years of sparring, of studying, of  _listening_ —and all of it, even with his guidance—could not give her the strength to save herself or her friends.

 

Finn was in the cell next to hers. A part of her wished they cut off her ears. At least then she wouldn't have to hear his screams. It was unbearable, whatever they were doing to him, and no thick, soundproof wall could drown out his cries. They still found a way through, echoing throughout her cell—haunting her.

 

 _Luke_ , she begged, calling out to the invisible energy in the air.  _Help us. Please. Help us._

 

No answer.

 

She hated how weak she'd come to resort to this, crying out for help like some mewling princess. Luke always said that Jedis had to find their strength on their own—to be completely dependent on themselves. And how she had let him down. It was only a matter of time before they'd come back to interrogate her for Luke, and then she'd be a traitor for giving that up as well.

 

_No._

 

That wasn't going to happen. She had to stick through it that time. She had to. For Luke. For the Resistance. Even if her master wasn't at the island, there was still the slim chance he was there. And whatever Kylo Ren and the First Order wanted, they had the potential to overpower him.

 

And that might mean his death.

 

_No._

 

 _It wouldn't come to that_ , she promised herself. She wouldn't give in. She knew what to expect at least, and had the comfort of knowing she could blow up a droid if she needed to.

 

But it was Kylo Ren.  _He_  would be her main problem. If she wanted to save Luke and the Resistance, she would have to find a way to best him—and she wasn't sure she had the strength anymore.

 

Rey sagged against the wall, cradling her throbbing body in her arms in hopes that sleep would find her. It sounded like they'd finally finished with Finn, so the best thing she could do was try to rest. To prepare herself mentally for what was coming next.

 

Restless hours of slipping in and out of consciousness passed before she felt him coming again.

 

Rey lifted her head, disoriented. Her heart rate spiked—just as it did on Takodana and Mirrin Prime. It simmered deep inside her, a flutter in her chest, more intense than it ever was when she sensed her master or Leia Organa.

 

Sure enough, footsteps were heard outside her cell. A foreign light bleeped from the cell door—one bright, yellow orb with a curt drone.

 

The door unlocked.

 

Kylo Ren entered the room alone, deft as a shadow. She watched him lock the door behind himself, watched as he monotonously went through the protocol motions. If he hadn't shown his face to her all those years before, she might have been convinced he was a robot.

 

The mask turned, tilting down to her form on the far wall.

 

Rey's sore temples caved into a scowl. Seeing him brought a storm of emotions. She  _hated_  that he'd made her cry, made her hurt. The embarrassment was almost as bad as the pain. How she wished she had Luke's lightsaber again. She sure wouldn't hesitate to cut him in half this time.

 

He was still for a moment, until he gestured to the bleeping orb with one, gloved hand.

 

"The next time that light goes off, you are to return to your restraints," his distorted voice told her.

 

Rey stared at him with uttermost loathing, drawing her lips in a very, tight line. First, he tortured her. Now he expected her to follow rules—ordering her around like one of his white armored worshippers.

 

"You hurt Finn," she whispered.

 

"It was his choice."

 

"You _hurt_  him. You _hurt_  my friend."

 

"He had information we wanted," Ren said, unconcerned with the root of her anger. "Fear not. His use to the First Order will soon run its course."

 

His meaning drove knives through her heart. That meant there was only one way for Finn out of this place—and it wouldn't be with his life.

 

Unless, of course, they were rescued in time.

 

"Put the idea out of your head," he said, reminding her he could still see her thoughts. "Rescue attempts are futile here."

 

Rey grit her teeth.

 

"They’ve done it before.”

 

"And how did that work out for Han Solo?"

 

Rey blinked back angry tears. What was his  _problem_? How could anyone be so heartless—so unashamed of what they did to their own father? Rey couldn't even fathom how upset she would feel to lose someone that loved her and wanted to help her.

 

"Don't underestimate them," she said. "They _will_  find us. Luke will find us."

 

"You really don't understand where you are, do you?"

 

Rey swallowed sharply, masking her unease. No. Truthfully, she didn't know. She could deduce they were on a planet judging by the lack of aircraft movement and the primal surroundings of her cell, but where it was, she had no idea.

 

And the thought didn't scare her until now.

 

"Luke will find us," she repeated, more to herself than him.

 

Ren ignored her, done with the talk. His gloved hand stretched out and she felt her body yield to his firm control, her pain exploding from the pressure. She let out a pained cry as she was lifted from the ground by some unseen, unnatural force—and lowered back into her restraining apparatus. The metal fastenings clamped around her wrists and ankles, digging into tender flesh.

 

"Tell me where Skywalker is." His voice was calm. Stern.

 

Rey exhaled, hating that she was already showing weakness when it came to pain tolerance. That damned droid. She should've blown it up sooner.

 

"No droids this time?" she asked, mostly to stall time.

 

"Where is Skywalker?"

 

"How should I know? He's out there and I'm in here."

 

Rey's head cracked from his unseen slap. She should have been prepared for it, she knew. Hux may have been easier to anger, but unlike him, Ren could actually do something about it. Pain seeped into the left side of her face, making her eyes water.

 

"Where is he?" he asked again.

 

"He's your uncle," Rey reasoned. "He's your blood. Why do you want him dead so much?"

 

The figure stepped closer, silencing her.

 

"My reasons do not concern a scavenger. Tell me where Skywalker is."

 

Rey squared her face to him, steeling herself. She simply couldn't believe this was all he was. There had to be more to him. No one so close to Luke and Leia could be so dead inside. Maybe his cold exterior was an act, just to seem professional in front of his colleagues. But they were alone, now. Maybe she could get to him without Hux and the stormtrooper there.

 

"I know you're different," she said. "You're better than this."

 

His body language reflected his disinterest.

 

"You don't know what I am," he said.

 

"I know you were once a great pupil. Luke told me. I know you used to defeat anyone in combat training. I know how old you were when Snoke turned you."

 

The mask said nothing. Did nothing. Rey swallowed, taking advantage of the silence.

 

"I know your father loved you. And your mother and uncle, too—they still do. They still have hope. And I know your name. Your real one. Ben Sol—"

 

She suddenly howled up to the ceiling in silent agony. Ren's fingers had closed, triggering something in her body—something that made even breathing painful—

 

"Luke Skywalker is a fool," the distorted voice said dully. "And your stories mean nothing to me. This is your final chance. Skywalker's location."

 

Rey gasped out, trying to find a way out of his grip, to sever his connection—

 

" _Stop it_ ," she pleaded. "Just let  _go_ —"

 

"Give me what I want."

 

" _I—don't—know_ ," she said through her teeth. "He's gone—I don't know where he is. Let _go_ —"

 

"Where did you last see him?"

 

"I—I don't—"

 

"Tell me."

 

Rey tried focusing on him as she did with the droid, harnessing the Force to her. If she could blow up a droid, she could pry off his power—

 

"You are not strong enough," he droned, bored with her attempts. "Tell me, or I will get the information myself."

 

Rey's eyes widened, realizing what he meant. She shielded her mind from him once before, but that was back when her raw strength could overpower him. Back when  _he_  was the weak one.

 

Now, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy.

 

"Does it give you such joy to do this?" she finally asked. "To torture people? To _hurt_  people? You told me you didn't like invading people's minds—"

 

"It gives me neither pleasure nor distress. You are a prisoner. You are in my way."

 

Rey squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling up in the air. Her restraints began to feel like blades against her skin.

 

" _Let go of me_ ," she snarled. "I'll  _never_  give you anything— _never_."

 

He stepped even closer, shadowing her. She'd forgotten how tall and intimidating he was at this proximity.

 

"You will," he murmured.

 

Rey twitched and turned, her limbs on fire. "You _monster_. Your mother loves you, Luke loves you—and you would betray them like this—?"

 

She felt something in him snap. Ren was done waiting. Still holding his agonizing grip on her, his mind probe thrust forward, invading her own.

 

Rey was unprepared, to say the least. Her mental walls scrambled into position, trying to barricade him out. She knew that looking at him was key. Luke always said to look at your opponents in the eyes, that way one could establish fearlessness and read what the opponent would do next.

 

But there were no eyes for her to see. Just a mask. Just black slits between silver lines, somewhere beneath a cold exterior. She vaguely remembered his eyes had been brown. Brown, and dark, and sentimental.

 

_And warm?_

 

Rey discarded the thought, zeroing in on trying to push him out. She was done losing to him. She was done being weak.

 

" _Get—out_ ," she ordered.

 

He leaned in closer, his fingers meeting the warmth of her cheek. Rey's heart hammered at the feeling of cold leather, now resting just above her jaw. His touch distracted her. The pressure of it was as firm as his determination to extract what he wanted from her.

 

And he was quick, already past where she had stopped him before. He delved further and further into her mind, searching with an urgency.

 

Rey threw memories in his path, anything to block him. It seemed to work for a moment, when his probe faltered on something and the mask tilted with him.

 

Rey suddenly paled. She knew what memory he was seeing.

 

"Someone left you," he said, the smallest curiosity in his tone.

 

Tears burned in her eyes. She was hoping he would never see that one—the one that had only haunted her for decades on Jakku. Why did she have to throw _that_  one in his path? Why  _that_  one?

 

_Unkar Plutt had her little arm in his blotched, meaty fingers. A man in a cloak knelt down in front of her, his eyes as pale as ice. She sobbed in his arms._

 

" _I'll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise," the man pressed a kiss to her forehead._

 

_She clutched at him, begging him not to leave her, but her cries did nothing. The man cast her one last smile as he climbed into the shuttle, disappearing into the skies._

 

" _No! Come back!" she helplessly pleaded._

 

" _Quiet, girl," Plutt muttered, dragging her along._

 

" _No!"_

 

Rey felt him withdraw from the memory. Tears trailed down her face.

 

"Abandoned," he noted. "Just as my uncle abandoned you."

 

Rey's voice cracked. "He  _didn't_ abandon me—"

 

"Didn't he?" Ren said. "Accept your defeat, scavenger. Luke Skywalker is a traitor and a coward, and you mean nothing to him."

 

The tears came hotter, faster.

 

" _No_ ," Rey insisted, shaking her head. "You're wrong—you… I'm his Padawan. He  _never_  abandoned me—he would  _never_. He just sent me to Leia—"

 

"Is that what he told you? Is that what he told you to get rid of you?"

 

Rey shook her head, blindly. No. _No_. He was wrong. She knew he was—she knew it was a lie, and yet the tears kept building up again, as if they couldn't help but entertain the idea he was right.

 

"Luke will save us," she said again.

 

His gloved fingers sunk into her face. His voice was still so calm, so smooth, and she  _hated_  it.

 

"We both know he will not," he told her. "And why would he? Why would he waste a thought on you?  _You_. The scavenger who pretends to be a Jedi. The one that caves to pain so easily. The one that betrayed him."

 

"I'll _never_  betray him!" she screamed back.

 

"You're fragile," he went on. "You're weak. You're nothing—"

 

"I'm  _not_  weak!"

 

"Then stop me."

 

Rey tried. She did. She fought with everything in her, her anger fueling her determination. She threw whatever she could at him, anything to block him, to get him out. It was a far cry from anything she had been taught about these situations. Luke said under stress that a Jedi had to remain calm above everything else—to control his emotions and be at peace. Rey ignored it all, ignoring the Force even—as she screamed and thrashed and fought against his probe like she was fighting for her life.

 

_Who cares about his methods? Luke abandoned me. He's leaving me here to die._

 

 _No. Don't let Ren win. It's a lie. He's lying to you_ — _it's not true!_

 

But her efforts, ultimately, did not stop him.

 

She felt him come upon it and she screamed in frustration—screaming at herself for letting him get there. Her body throbbed from the pain of his grip, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she had been useless to stop him. Again.

 

Ren's fingers fell away. She expected to hear a certain smugness or satisfaction in his tone, but his voice did not change.

 

"I've seen this before," he said. "Last time. The island."

 

Rey trembled, catching a helpless sob in her throat.

 

Ren retrieved the coordinates from another memory, the one where Leia gave her the information before her and Chewbacca went off to find him. Rey used all of her remaining strength to force him out—but it didn't matter, now. He already got what he needed.

 

Ren stepped away, satisfied with the answers.

 

"He won't be there," Rey said, shaking with hate. "You'll  _never_ find him."

 

The metal apparatus snapped, releasing her early. She shrieked as she pummeled to the floor.

 

Kylo Ren's boots echoed all the way to the door. She heard him pause, just as the door slid open for him.

 

"We'll see," the mask droned, before he exited the room.

 

Rey listened to the door slide back in place, and she bottled her fingers into fists. With a rush of energy, she wobbled to her feet and attacked the door—banging on it like a child. She thrashed her knuckles against the steel, blood spurting, again and again, but the pain did not stop her. She screamed and cried in aggravation—hating herself, hating him, hating everything about her situation.

 

Calming down, she rested her forehead against the cold steel. Blood glugged from her knuckles, skating down the red flesh, down her wrists.

 

 _Luke_ , she called out.  _Luke—please. Hear me. Get out of there. If you can hear me—get out. Run. Please._

 

_Go._

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

Leia sat alone in her windowless room, listening to the footsteps go by on the upper floor. The room was wide and spacious, but plain. Cracked ceilings and dressers and insipid colored blankets were all it consisted of.

 

She looked around, absorbing the details of the room one last time. A long time ago, she'd been a princess. She had a balcony. She had tables made of marble. She had a closet overflowing with luxurious gowns. The idea that she ever had to make her bed on her own was a joke, an insult.

 

But she did. Every day. Every day she would line up the blankets and pillows until they were void of creases. She never minded the labor now that her royal days had ended.

 

And at her feet in that plain, little room sat Luke's opened letter, lying ajar to the world.

 

A knock jerked her out of her trance. Leia voiced her approval for them to enter.

 

It was the commander. "We're ready, General."

 

Leia nodded, standing up.

 

"Thank you, Commander."

 

"Do you need another bandage?" he asked, eyeing her taped elbow. "The medic is still in the bay."

 

"No, that will do," she assured him. "I'm fine. Make sure the medic stays with the injured pilots. They need it more."

 

"Yes, General."

 

She took Luke's opened letter and folded it deep into her vest. It didn't escape the commander's notice, who grit his mouth in a hard line. He was one of the few she let read the contents.

 

"The Resistance will protect you, General," he said. "We won't let him hurt you."

 

Leia shook her head. "It's not me I'm worried about."

 

"I know," he said. "We'll find them. We'll bring Poe Dameron and the others home. They can't hide them forever."

 

Leia gave him a tired smile. "Thank you, Commander.”

 

She followed him out of the base, weaving through the abandoned hallways and control centers. This place had been her home for so long, it was hard to believe she was actually leaving it behind. The First Order was never able to touch them here. It always felt safe.

 

The last of the X-wing fighters took off from the concrete strip, vanishing into space in seconds. Leia followed the commander into the last shuttle, and chose a seat next to the window to watch.

 

Engines churned and whined. The shuttle lifted from the ground, dwarfing the mounds of grass where the base was hidden for so long.

 

Leia clutched her chest.

 

Rey was in pain. She could feel it. She could feel Luke's innocent Padawan calling out into the Force, begging for one of them to find her. If only she could. If only her son hadn't made it so difficult.

 

"I'm sorry, Rey," she murmured, before snipping off her Force signature from the universe.

 

The shuttle bolted into hyperspace, vanishing in a single blink.

 

* * *

 

**X**


	8. A Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was working on a book for a contest, but now it's over and I'm back on schedule. Thank you all for your feedback and for being so patient!
> 
> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

Someone had puked underneath the table again.

 

Sighing, Maz Kanata crouched down to wedge her rag in the dark space below. Hodgepods and looters never cleaned up after themselves and she was getting quite tired of dealing with it. Sooner or later, she'd start having the droids on the duty. It was simply becoming too much for her.

 

The castle was nearly dead. A few smugglers still crowded the board games, determined to gamble back the winnings they'd lost at daybreak, but she knew she'd have to kick them out long before that happened. Droids rolled around the floors, gathering dust and extraneous trash.

 

She started back out when she heard the door open.

 

Two, three, four footsteps. Metallic and loud. Maz frowned, not expecting so many customers near closing time.

 

Stormtroopers. Three of them led by a gaunt, tall man in black.

 

Maz pursued her lips. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

 

The leader squared his pert nose down at her, his voice as sharp as his eyes. "Are you Maz Kanata?"

 

"I am."

 

The leader leaned back and nodded to the troopers. Two of them unhinged their blasters and aimed the muzzles down at her head. Maz took the time to examine the interior details.

 

"Skywalker," the leader said. "Where is he?"

 

Maz smiled. This was all making more sense now.

 

"Did someone send you?" she asked.

 

"The First Order, under the orders of Kylo Ren."

 

 _Kylo Ren_. Of course he did. He ought to have been searching for both Skywalkers now for the prophecy. And he'd been close, Maz knew. Quite close to capturing his mother on Mirrin Prime.

 

But he'd taken another. Maz could feel the disturbance in the Force, the cry for help from Luke's Padawan.

 

Tight-lipped, Maz groused. "He destroyed my castle."

 

"And you're fortunate he permits it to stand now," the leader returned. "We're here for information. Failure to cooperate will result in your immediate execution."

 

Maz idly wondered if she could evade their shots from this proximity. Probably not. Not from this angle. In a different battle, she could use her short height and wisdom to save her life, but not here. Knowing the Force and using the Force were very different things.

 

Still, she couldn't help but press her luck. She could never help it. She'd been around a long time and seen horrors far greater than these Empire amateur thugs. Maybe one day she'd be punished for being too careless, but not for some time.

 

"And if I tell you?" she said. "The man is a legend. A ghost. You cannot catch ghosts."

 

The leader grew impatient. "Last chance."

 

A trash droid behind her bleeped questioningly. Maz kept herself calm, not taking her eyes from her captors. "I have it under control," she told it. "I am just trying to explain to these fine gentlemen here that their mission is impossible. They'd have far better luck finding a dead man at the bottom of a sea."

 

The leader bared his teeth. "The First Order will not tolerate your insults."

 

"There is no insult in common sense," she merely replied.

 

From behind her, a seven-foot creature with a barreled chest snarled at the invaders. Another security guard of Maz's, tasked with kicking out heavily drunk customers and thieves. And he had dealt with far worse than a few stormtroopers.

 

The stormtroopers, however, had not. Even with weapons, the troopers stepped back, uneasy being shadowed by such a ferocious creature. Maz smirked. "It would seem you've overstayed your welcome."

 

The leader swallowed and ordered them to lower the blasters. He too was in no mood to get eaten alive. Still, he said, "From now on, a squadron of my officers will be stationed at this castle until the search for Skywalker has ended."

 

"Takodana is neutral warfare territory.”

 

"Then I will save my resources and have this structure obliterated a second time. Tonight."

 

Maz paused, cracking another grin. She couldn't remember the last time any member of the First Order had rendered her speechless. Impressed, she held back her security, deciding to humor them. She would play their games this once.

 

"Stay then, if it comforts you," she mused, "but you will never find him here."

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

_Mother._

 

Kylo Ren felt it in his chest, the sudden void in the Force. The void of his mother cutting off her signature.

 

Under old circumstances, the thought would have infuriated him. He wouldn't have even waited until he was alone to ignite his lightsaber and maim every piece of matter in sight.

 

But the Supreme Leader was wise. Instead of being consumed with hate, he had to harness it. Control it. Let it take root inside his veins, wielding it as his hidden weapon, as his energy source. His goals would be easier attained if he were not blinded by such rash emotion.

 

Nevertheless, the feeling irked him. He waited months for this moment to tame the galaxy under his rule, and the moment Snoke released him, she discovered the prophecy and snipped herself away.

 

Ren prevented the revelation from breaking his stride as his boots met primitive, wet earth. He would relay his concerns to his Supreme Leader later, back at the base. His mother could wait. For now, he had a bigger threat to fish out.

 

He'd seen this island before. Once—in the scavenger's head, back on Starkiller Base. Blackened mountains surrounded by writhing, open sea. Perhaps a dream of hers, or a calling. That irked him most of all.

 

Even the Force wanted to bring those two together.

 

"Sir," said a trooper, "the B-unit has reported no sign of Skywalker."

 

The B-unit had the shores, he remembered. He told the trooper to continue the search as he made his way up the crooked, stone steps alone.

 

_Oh, Uncle._

 

_Is this what hiding has reduced you to?_

 

The stoned hives before him were less than formidable. Luke Skywalker once had arches dedicated to him. Cities. Statues. People traveled across galaxies just to touch his hand—the man that saved his father and everything else from the Empire. Ren could still recall memories of the way his uncle seemed to glow beneath opaque, pavilion windows in Republic City, a walking legend.

 

Now this. A monastery life rotting in the dirt by himself. Ren wasn't shocked. A coward his uncle was, through and through.

 

Ren wafted through the ancient, abandoned fort until he came upon the last monastery, the largest. He inhaled a long breath through his mask slits, inhaling the presence, the inkling, the _it_. Whatever it was of importance that he felt long before his first step on the island. The  _something_  or  _someone_  still there.

 

He exhaled.

 

Keeping a firm hand on his weapon, he ducked inside the cold, hallowed structure. He half expected to find Skywalker sitting there meditating, just as he had for hours and hours back at the academy. Back when Ren was foolish enough to think his uncle was the one who would change his life.

 

Nothing.

 

Not an ember in the fire pit. Not a trinket out of place. Not even a whisper of wind.

 

His footsteps remedied the silence before he found  _it_ , the presence he had been looking for, unmoved in the windowsill. Ren stopped, his gloved fingers leaving his weapon and reaching towards his uncle's.

 

A delicate weight. Old-fashioned, lipped in silver steel. Just as he remembered.

 

The message was simple. He could almost hear his uncle's voice in his head now—soft, thunderous, and serene as collapsing waves.

 

_I won't fight you, Ben._

 

His grip tightened.

 

_Coward._

 

Always a coward. He wouldn't face him before and he wouldn't now. He planned to wait him out, to avoid any confrontation to keep himself alive. Such a typical, disappointing gesture.

 

Fine, then. Let his uncle run and hide. Let him try to evade him now. One way or another, he would be found. He would be slaughtered. And then the rest of them—his mother, her resistance, and that  _girl_ would come next.

 

The girl.

 

She was useless, now. Perhaps he would start early with her and finish with Skywalker. Yes. That ought to be a terrifying blow to his uncle—to feel the hole of her existence. Perhaps the Supreme Leader would give him consent to do it himself as some way to rid himself of her—to finish the mission he should have ended in a collapsing snow forest long ago.

 

"Sir," the trooper reappeared. "We found no trace of the Jedi."

 

Ren's mask turned, and with steady hands, he tucked his uncle's lightsaber in his belt, knowing this was all they would find.

 

"Pull out all forces," he ordered. "He's not here."

 

* * *

 

**-o-**

* * *

 

 

They  _hurt_. Her knuckles.

 

Luke told her once that great Jedi masters could heal themselves. They could meditate for days, slowly mending their wounds as they yielded their minds and bodies to the midi-chlorians. She'd never seen it done before, but she could've sworn she saw Luke's hand unscathed the morning after a sparring incident.

 

Rey found no such luck. She poked at the swollen flesh, wincing at the contact. She shouldn't have been so reckless. Any little pain she could have saved herself was a missed opportunity for rest. She was tired of feeling pain. Of waking to it. Of drowning in it. If she wasn't more careful, she might accidentally kill herself.

 

Not that it was such a terrible idea anymore.

 

No one was coming to save them. Not Leia. Not the Resistance. Not Luke. No. And she shouldn't want them to. Ren's sudden reappearance in the First Order was a threat to them all. Risking their lives to infiltrate this strange, unfamiliar base just for the sake of a scavenger and two pilots, risking supplies for a greater battle was foolish. Even she knew it.

 

They were alone.

 

At the very least, she would find a way to free Finn and Poe. That much she could do. Even if she failed Luke on every other account, she would fight tooth and nail to free her friends. They belonged together, anyway. They would have each other out there. She would have no one.

 

Inhaling sharply, she flexed her fingers on the door again, extending her Force field to the bolts within. It hadn't worked yet, but perhaps if she kept trying, the locks would give. Luke could probably do it. The great Jedis could do it.

 

_I'm no great Jedi._

 

_Stop it!_

 

Seething, she grit her teeth until she narrowed in on the steel, trying to peel it apart like wires hooked on a compressor. The energy was only inflaming the pain in her knuckles, but she kept going, begging it, begging for the smallest tear—the smallest hope.

 

Too much.

 

She exhaled, collapsing against the steel again. Kylo Ren had likely seen to her confinement, especially since he was comfortable releasing her from her restraints. He wouldn't have put her in a cell she could potentially break out of. He knew she was no great Jedi.

 

 _One day_ , she vowed.  _One day he'll underestimate me. And then he will know I am not weak._

 

She tried again. And again. Energy collapsed, the room shrunk on her, and she screamed in frustration until her voice went hoarse.

 

Until something. A sound. So small, she might have missed it.

 

She leaned off the door, wobbling to the corner of her cell where a lone, rusted screw had popped out of one of the walls. It was still rolling sideways in a perfect circuit when she picked it up.

 

_Hope._

 

It may not have come from the wall she wanted, but it was proof. Proof that even Kylo Ren's cell could not hold her forever. Maybe the door wouldn't come loose for a while, but she would work on it every day. And then maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that…

 

An idea sprung in her head.

 

With more confidence, she strode towards the other wall, the wall separating her and Finn. From its sturdiness and cold exterior, this one was also made of steel. It would be too strong to pierce with anything—much less a tiny, little screw. Not even the Force could infiltrate it without bending the screw itself.

 

No.

 

Rey dropped down to her knees, searching the wall for a different material. Sure enough, the steel softened to something different and warmer at the bottom. She pressed the tip into the wall, harnessing the energy and guiding it forward.

 

Resistance. Twist and turn. Push and pull. Finally—

 

_There._

 

The screw left her finger, inching deeper and deeper into the wall until the silver head disappeared completely. Rey leaned over to check its progress, drilling and drilling, and then—

 

A pop of light. The screw clattered to the floor.

 

She let out an unsteady breath.

 

"Finn?" she called, unsure.

 

Nothing.

 

The hole was tiny, dwarfing her smallest finger. If she widened the radius, it was more likely that a droid or one of her captors would notice it, and besides, the cell  _was_  Finn's… wasn't it?

 

"Finn?"

 

Nothing.

 

What if this was the wrong cell? What if it wasn't a cell at all, and a stormtrooper was inside, and they could hear her and tell Ren—?

 

But it came. An answer. A broken sob.

 

"Rey…"

 

The tone of his voice nearly destroyed her. Tears gathered in her eyes and she knew, she  _knew_  what they had done. The thought made her hate herself for not protecting them, for being so weak.

 

"Finn," she said again.

 

She listened for his voice. Instead, she heard him contorting and hissing in pain. He sounded far away, too, nowhere near the hole she'd bridged between their cells.

 

"Did they let you out of your restraints?" she asked.

 

Another hiss.

 

"No..."

 

Rey felt another stab in her ribs. Oh, Finn. They hadn't even let him stretch or move or massage his wrists that were nailed to his restraining apparatus. How could these people be so cruel?

 

"I'm sorry…" she whispered into the hole, into that little shard of light. "We'll get out of this. I'll get you out. I promise, Finn."

 

"Rey... I—"

 

But before she could listen, the familiar flutter ignited in her chest as the yellow light signaled the approach of her captor.

 

He was back.

 

* * *

 

**X**


	9. A Hologram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

By the time the door unlocked, Rey was already nestled up in her restraints, arms and ankles extended in their cuffs. His sudden return left her with little options to avoid suspicion, particularly in regards to her new, tiny secret in the wall. Cooperating, whether or not she wanted to, would hopefully wipe her of any seeming misconduct.

 

He entered, stiff and silent. The metal of his mask betrayed no expression, but she sensed an alteration in his demeanor, something nettled.

 

Could he tell she was hiding something? She wasn't sure. There was a time when she thought her silence kept her safe, but Kylo Ren read minds like he read faces. Nothing separated him from her mind—not a layer of skin, not a skull, not even a brain. Thinking was just as dangerous as speaking.

 

Fortunately, Ren seemed to show no interest. She felt no sudden invasion, nor did he close the door or ignite the screen to lock her in the restraints.

 

But then she knew. It rushed at her like wind, a rush of relief.

 

"You didn't find him," she whispered.

 

She couldn't explain it, exactly— _how_  she knew. It was something in the air between them, a translation in the energy. She could feel it. His disappointment. His frustration.

 

_Luke had escaped him._

 

"Get up," he ordered brusquely.

 

Rey swallowed, pushing herself from the angled platform. Even as sweet as the relief was knowing Luke had heard her, it was hastily ebbing away. The First Order only moved prisoners if they were going to… 

 

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

 

He didn't give her the hospitality of an answer. Instead, he had her wrists bound in front of her in metal shackles, contraptions that marred unyieldingly into her forearms. She was immediately given to the squadron of stormtroopers waiting outside, while Ren walked on ahead of them.

 

This was her first look outside her cell. She took it all in—the hallways, the lights, the strange machines. Starkiller Base had been more technically advanced; but it still surprised her they had rebuilt this much, slipping so unsuspectingly under the nose of the Resistance.

 

Bloodied and bruised, Finn was roughly extracted from his cell as well. His appearance broke her more than his voice had. She caught a glimpse of his stumbling figure between bodies of white armor, barely able to keep himself upright. The sight sent such a rage through her that she considered blasting the troopers into the walls, but Ren was too close, and she didn't want to think about the repercussions.

 

Poe, it seemed, had been held hostage in the following cell. There was a tangle of brown limbs and a brief struggle before he too was forced in union with the march. Rey ground her teeth, furiously.

 

There they were—the once powerful trio of the Resistance—all shackled and powerless between rows of identical troopers. A traitor, a pilot, and a girl. All fates left in the hands of the enemy.

 

 _This has to mean our executions_ , Rey thought. There was no reason the First Order would remove them for anything else. They had already given them the information they wanted. The only thing left was one last feat, one last twist of the dagger into the Skywalkers—snuffing out the lives of their heroes.

 

_She might as well just blast the troopers._

 

But to her surprise, they seemed to disperse once they reached a door at the end of a hallway. The three of them were shoved in after Ren, one by one, into a wide, darkened room. The drop in the temperature feasted on her bare skin, making her uncomfortably cold.

 

Then she saw it. The faint, static hue emanating from the far side of the chamber. The only light in a room swallowed by darkness.

 

He was nearly skeletal, that tall, gaunt fiend on a shadowed throne. The holo made him a giant, a god, and she needed to turn away from it—to avert her eyes from whatever this being was that struck her with such repulsion. She could practically taste his iniquity, as if he wore a coat of it over his robes and sickly, scarred visage.

 

Luke told her about a dark creature, a puppet master who pulled and preyed on his nephew's strings. The creature behind the First Order, behind Luke's destruction, behind everything.

 

This was him. Kylo Ren's master.

 

A trooper dragged her by her shoulder, shoving her to the floor next to Finn and Poe. Ren and the snide, red-haired officer stood beneath the holo's feet, waiting for the troopers to dismiss themselves.

 

Struggling, she crawled closer to her friends, ignoring everyone around, wanting to just touch them once. Gashes littered down Finn's neck and arms, and his eyes met her—one of them bloodshot. Poe, too, looked in ailing condition. His shoulder was still matted in dark red, untreated, with a crooked nose and a wound beneath his wop of dark hair. One look between them all was heart wrenching, a joined understanding of all they'd been through. She felt she was going to be sick.

 

The static hummed louder.

 

"Here they are, Supreme Leader," the red haired general said, Hux—she remembered. "Our three most desired detainees."

 

Rey dared a glance from her curtain of tangled hair, up at the hologram that spoke nothing. Within the veil of static, his eyes held a terrible emptiness, the same she would suspect seeing in Ren if she were able to see him without his mask.

 

Not missing his chance to boast further, Hux continued. "All of them have been interrogated and have caved accordingly."

 

Rey yearned to strangle him where he stood. The creature moved, and she caught his spidery, white hand curling into the stone holding him.

 

"Good." His voice carried throughout the chamber, deep and sinister, echoing inside her head.

 

The general went on. "We shall see how the Resistance fairs with an ambush against their new base."

 

Poe barked out a strained laugh from his position on the floor. "Underestimate them all you like," he said, hair in his eyes. "They'll see you coming a light-year away."

 

Hux smiled. "I think not, pilot."

 

There was more movement, a shift in energy. Rey felt herself growing faint in its presence. He was powerful, yes—frighteningly so, and his Force signature dripped with something nefarious, something unnatural. Was this what the dark side felt like?

 

"The pilot who destroyed the base," the creature droned. Poe shook as he stared at the holo, defiant to the bone, though hardly able to keep his torso erect. The Supreme Leader gestured to his masked apprentice with a long, skeletal finger. "Search him."

 

Kylo Ren strode forward, grasping the air. Poe's body convulsed and stretched in every direction, and he howled in pain, gasping—

 

"N-No—!" it was Finn, desperate. "Stop it—let him g— _ah_!" One flick of Ren's hand sent him back to the ground.

 

Tears burned her eyes, hating having to watch this, to let this happen. Unfortunately, intervening would not help him. All she could do was hope Ren was quick and direct with getting the information he wanted.

 

Finally, after centuries of Poe's pained, strangled cries, Ren let him crumple to the floor. He turned robotically to the holo.

 

"He knows many things. Their council meeting, their plots, their allies."

 

"Then he is still of value," the Supreme Leader said. "Extract any information you can. His pain will not go unheard, and his presence will lure their armies."

 

Shaking with rage, Poe seethed. "They will  _never_ fall for your traps—"

 

An invisible slap cut him off.

 

Hux was pleased. "And the rogue traitor, Supreme Leader?"

 

Finn had barely moved. Rey reckoned he too could not stomach looking at the creature responsible for never knowing his family, for being raised to kill. The creature's white, scarred skull tilted.

 

"Take him to the medical bay. Search his brain for the error in our training facilities and remedy it. His brain could be re-wired back into the proper setting."

 

Horror hit all three of them at once. Rey and Poe objected simultaneously.

 

" _No_ —!"

 

"You  _bastards_ —don't you—"

 

_Slap._

 

Rey blinked with difficulty.  _No_. She wouldn't let them do that to Finn—she  _wouldn't_. To take away Finn's will, to make him forget everything he'd done with the Resistance, to make him forget her and Poe…

 

Nausea took hold of her, and not just for Finn's dilemma. The creature's focus had shifted.

 

"Her," it said, a dark whisper.

 

The interest in his voice was unmistakable, the inevitable curiosity of who she was and her connection to Skywalker. He had to have known about her somehow, either from Ren or the Force—just as she knew about him.

 

Still, Rey refused him the gift of her eyes. She wouldn't look at it. She refused.

 

"Bring her closer."

 

Ren's grip took her body, and though she half-heartedly fought it, she was unwillingly dragged a few yards closer to the holo. Her chin snapped up, forcing her to meet the creature's animalistic orbs. His eyes slowly closed.

 

"Yes…" the voice purred, searching her. "I feel it. She has… power. Strength."

 

Her body trembled beneath him, teeth clenching, body begging— _begging_  to be free of Ren's curse.  _Stop it_ , Rey screamed at him through her head.  _Let me go—let me go—_

 

The creature's eyes opened. She thought the weight of his stare would shatter her, would consume her alive, until Ren promptly released her. She collapsed on all fours, grateful for the control over her own body again. Now if only she could claw out the terrible image of him from her mind.

 

Ren spoke. "And now she is useless to the First Order."

 

Rey shot him an incredulous look, still baffled by how cold and bloodthirsty he had become. Why did he hate her so much? What had she done to him other than protect what was good—what had been her destiny all along? Even on Starkiller Base there had been some gentleness to his behavior, no wanton yearning to have her bloodied corpse at his feet.

 

She wanted to see him without his mask again. She really did. She didn't care what she'd find—she didn't care if she'd be afraid. Right now, all she wanted was to see something—some piece of Leia, or even Han for that matter. Just something to assure her that there was still some fragment of light as Leia had insisted for years. She needed that comfort now more than ever.

 

Bemused, the creature returned. "What do you suggest?"

 

Rey turned to look at him again, frantic. The mask did not so much as tilt in her direction.

 

"Supreme Leader, I ask permission to execute her myself."

 

There was movement behind her, Finn and Poe audibly protesting. Rey couldn't believe it. So he  _did_  want her dead at his feet. All those moments of sympathy before had been a fallacy. Now she knew. He never cared. He despised her, just as the others did in the First Order.

 

From the outskirts of her scowling face leaked unwanted tears.  _No_. No tears. Why should she care what he thought of her? She hated him, too. He killed his father, he killed thousands of other innocents, and he _tortured_  her—the bastard—he tortured Finn and Poe!  _He_  was the evil one.  _He_  was the one she should despise.

 

Still, the fuel of his past actions did little to quell her tears. Rey angrily brushed them away, nailing her glare to the floor. Fine. If he was going to kill her, so be it. They would die in mutual hatred.

 

She only wished she were less afraid.

 

"Patience, Kylo Ren," said the creature. "The time will come when she must die. But Skywalker must be found to fulfill the prophecy, and you will never lure him out without the girl."

 

Rey's frown deepened. A  _prophecy_?

 

Kylo Ren calmly protested. "Supreme Leader—"

 

"Her death would be a waste to the First Order," he continued. "Such  _wasted_  potential. Only until the death of both Skywalkers will hers be beneficial to us."

 

Her mind reeled and reeled again as the truth descended on her, bit by bit, until every little piece suddenly made sense. Ren's demeanor, the First Order's goal, Luke sending her away… the distance in his eyes when he returned from Maz's castle… the prophecy…

 

_Oh._

 

Rey exhaled. How had she not figured this out before? How had she not  _felt it_  in him like she did now?

 

"You're going to kill your uncle for…" she uttered, "your… your  _mother_ …?"

 

Ren ignored her. Hux spoke up, enforcing himself in their exchange. "If that is your command, Supreme Leader."

 

"Search her for further information," said the creature. "Anything that would lead us to him. Break her will. Her suffering will draw the Jedi out."

 

Rey wasn't sure what it was that broke her silence, her rage or her horror of the situation, but the urge to defy this sick creature was uncontrollable, even if her own words hurt. "Luke is stronger than you," she said, glaring up into the veiled static. "He would  _never_ risk his life coming here, not for anyone and not for me. Your plan will fail."

 

Rey saw Ren step forward to subdue her, but something in his master's reaction gave him pause. The jutting bones above the creature's eyes flattened, making his entire silhouette glow with dark amusement.

 

"You forget, young padawan… who has known him longer."

 

The air dropped in temperature. Rey swallowed, struggling for a reply, but nothing came. The creature's focus turned to his apprentices.

 

"Prepare the fleet for the attack, General. The Resistance must remain under our watch at all times." Hux bowed his head, and the scarred visage turned to Ren. "Initiate preparations for tracking Skywalker."

 

"Yes, Supreme Leader."

 

"These new plans will keep you both thoroughly occupied. Each of you should oversee a prisoner to carry out further interrogations on your own time."

 

Hux paused, considering. "I will personally station Phasma to the pilot. And—"

 

"I will take the traitor," Ren interrupted, rather quickly, "and oversee his re-wiring functions myself. The girl is yours."

 

Hux blinked. "Me?"

 

Rey, too, found his choice odd. She would've wagered he wanted her, especially since she was the most likely to escape. Perhaps his hatred had taken such root in him that any interaction with her was unwanted. She should feel more grateful not to see him anymore.  _Relieved,_ even.

 

"Then it's settled," the creature said. "Go now. Make your preparations."

 

Rey hid her blooming smirk. Maybe escaping was not so far out of her reach as she thought. Kylo Ren wanted to give her to a foolish, untrained captor? Very well. He would regret letting her out of his sight until his dying day.

 

And he would never fulfill that prophecy.

 

* * *

 

**X**


	10. A Swap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its characters belong to George Lucas.

**-o-**

* * *

 

The last time she set foot on Endor, she was hardly more than a girl, and the decades had been cruel ever since. Leia could tell by how hard the hike was on her hips, swinging her legs over fallen tree trucks and spiny weeds, struggling to maintain the pace of her young troops. If it were not to avoid suspicion on enemy radars, they would have taken the shuttle directly to the Ewok base long ago.

 

Several of her officers had already offered their support when her physical condition became obvious. Every time, she batted them away.

 

"Unless I'm already half way down, admiral, preserve my reputation and stop asking to assist me."

 

Two miles from the base, the trail weaved past the thickest, redwood tree and its brother lying dormant for tens of yards across the forest floor. After successfully climbing it in one piece, Leia felt a branch snag at her hair and the thin metal hairpin disappear back over the trunk.

 

"Need help, General?"

 

"Found it," she assured, plucking the metal from the dirt. She gave it one curt wipe before fumbling it back into her hair and heading after her troops.

 

It was then that she felt it.

 

So brief, so tiny, but  _him_ enflamed in her ribcage all the same.

 

Leia paled as she turned, catching a glimpse of the cloaked figure in the shadow of the redwood tree, hidden from her pilots' view. The shock jolted through her like electricity.

 

"Luke—?"

 

The figure gestured for her silence, his voice low and flat. "Tell them to go on ahead."

 

It took her a moment to process his command. A few pilots had already turned back from the trail, waiting for her.

 

Luke repeated. "Pretend to rest and tell them to go ahead."

 

"They can be trusted—"

 

"Spies are everywhere. Even in your ranks. Tell them to go ahead."

 

Exhaling, Leia complied and hastened her officers away, leaning against the fallen trunk for a more convincing act. She waited until every officer's head had turned and every body had trickled out of sight.

 

"I cut off my signature," she whispered. "How were you able to—?"

 

"It's not important," he said. "You have to convince your troops to relocate to another planet. The First Order knows you're here. You're in danger."

 

Leia could hardly believe this. Years of not seeing her brother, and now the only contact with him would be a coming argument.

 

"We've just negotiated with the Ewoks," she argued. "Leaving now would—"

 

"Find a way. You're not safe. Ben cannot win this fight."

 

She inhaled sharply. "He also has two of my best pilots, and _your_  Jedi Padawan. This alliance is giving us the resources to send reinforcements to save them."

 

"Then stop," he said. "Hold back your forces. Save them for another battle."

 

Leia fell silent, taking the time to digest his cruelty.

 

"She's your Padawan, Luke," she said. "She's  _suffering._  I know you've felt it, too—"

 

"Rey can withstand."

 

Leia gaped incredulously. "Have the years made you heartless?"

 

"This goes beyond her, now."

 

She drew in another sharp breath, still not believing these were Luke's words. Just to make sure, Leia inched off the trunk to approach him in the darkness, this shadow of a man who hardly seemed real anymore. Just to make sure it was him, she found his face, his graying beard, his eyes now brimmed with despair.

 

Leia grasped his hand, feeling how cold his skin was. How many times had she tried to reunite with him—to get him to stay, for once? Now with Han gone, Luke was all she had. All that was left of the family they'd formed in the beginning.

 

Luke's hand tightened on hers.

 

"You must hide, Leia."

 

She shook her head. "Luke—"

 

"Snoke's influence on him has grown. He will not hesitate this time."

 

"I'm  _not_  going to keep running from my own son," she snapped. "I'm not afraid of this. I've been ready to die longer than you have."

 

"Ben threatens not only our lives. His triumph could bring imbalance to the Force and the galaxy for years to come. To give him your life would give him millions."

 

Leia's own mask began to crumble. She knew. Oh, how she knew. As if he needed to remind her, to try and convince her to turn a blind eye to her only son. Maybe when she had been a princess she wouldn't have hesitated to choose countless innocent lives over one. But motherhood had ruined her, had destroyed that selfless part of her. She needed Ben to come home or she would die trying. All the prophecies in the world could not sustain that determination.

 

"He's my son," she whispered.

 

"I know."

 

Her voice trembled. "I thought him seeing Han again would help, that his father could bring him back. I was wrong."

 

"We all were."

 

Her vision suddenly blurred with memories. She swallowed.

 

"Where did I go wrong, Luke?"

 

A ripple of sunlight sliced into the face under the hood, and Leia caught a similar glassiness in her brother's eyes.

 

"The fault is mine, not yours," he gently countered. "You know that."

 

"No," she insisted, squeezing her eyes closed. "Stop saying that— _Snoke_  did this. Not you."

 

"He wasn't alone."

 

Leia stepped away, seeking to keep her composure, or whatever left of it she had. She looked on ahead, out into the distant redwoods.

 

"I asked you once if you knew in your heart he could be saved," she recalled. "I asked you not wanting your answer, but knowing you felt it in our father when I didn't. You told me you were uncertain about Ben." She brought herself to face him. "Are you now?"

 

Silence. For a time, only the wind answered.

 

Then, his voice.

 

"Yes."

 

It was the answer she feared, the one she didn't need him to specify. She felt a rock sink in her stomach, down and down until it hit the floor with resounding finality. If even Luke thought Ben was too unobtainable, her own mission to bring him home promised a long, endless journey.

 

But the shadow spoke again.

 

"There is still hope," he said. "Someone can save him."

 

Leia pressed. "Who?  _Who_?"

 

From the corner of her eye, she could see her pilots resurfacing from the lip of the hill. Their voices carried inaudible from the distance, but with obvious concern. Leia shot a look at Luke, begging him to stay with her. They had been apart too long. They needed to stay together at a time like this. But before she could go further, he interrupted, leaning from the trunk.

 

"Move your troops, Leia. Promise me you will."

 

"Luke, wait—"

 

"General?" a voice neared.

 

She called back, reassuring, but that briefest, stolen moment of her attention left her alone with a tree trunk and a snuffed out spark in her chest.

 

* * *

**-o-**

* * *

 

The lone pair of footsteps in the hangar belonged to the tall, hooded figure headed to the medical bay. His stride was leveled, direct, and calm, hardly taking note of the rooms he passed. He'd only been down to that level once since being stationed there, but the way he carried himself betrayed no uncertainty of his destination.

 

Amidst his route, a stormtrooper found him.

 

"Sir. A Resistance shuttle was spotted departing Endor."

 

Kylo Ren turned halfway, the information neither pleasing nor troubling him. If his mother wanted to keep running, so be it.

 

"Do not let them off our radars," he merely retorted.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

The chase was not the issue. Fate could not be avoided indefinitely. Sooner or later, the vastness of the galaxy would shrink on her, and she would have no choice but to confront him before her death. Let her run then, while he focused on his uncle.

 

The medical bay was a carnival of vials and machinery, a research lab that only a few stormtroopers would ever see in their lifetimes. One should count himself fortunate not to ever set foot in this room, as that meant that a flaw must be painfully, surgically remedied.

 

The prisoner was strapped to the platform, seemingly asleep, until the sight of Kylo Ren spiked adrenaline in him. FN-2187 fought and twisted at his bound limbs, though it was a futile attempt. Even without the restraints, there was no place for him to escape.

 

Fortunately, Ren was not interested yet.

 

He moved past him to the surgeon, an older woman with tightly, netted hair and a white uniform. Ren joined her on the other side of the glass, out of the prisoner's hearing range.

 

"Report," he said.

 

She glanced at her datapad. "His brain signals show little capacity for the cooperation we were hoping for, sir. The chip in his brain has been dismantled. The process will be difficult."

 

"How long?"

 

"Weeks. Months, maybe. He may not survive it."

 

The threat meant little. FN-2187's rogue intentions had some use, Ren supposed, especially if the re-wiring worked and the Order could release him back to the Resistance. His mother's location could be simply obtained that way, even his uncle's, but the plan did not overlap the prisoner's life. There were others that could be used in his absence.

 

"Begin the procedure," he said. "His life means nothing if he is not an asset to us."

 

The surgeon yielded. Ren stepped back into the prisoner's room, stopping just an arm length from his shackled form. FN-2187 flinched, from fear, from hate—bracing for the coming pain.

 

But Ren didn't have the time for torture, now. He already knew this one was the weakest. While the other prisoners spent their lives fighting and scrounging for survival, FN-2187's experience dwarfed in comparison. The traitor likely had no idea  _how_  to resist, or begin trying.

 

Ren outstretched a gloved hand. A little research on when the prisoner turned rogue wouldn't hurt.

 

He met little resistance.

 

Images bloomed into his own mind. Memories and memories and memories. A banquet surrounded by colossal windows. Relieved laughter in a X-wing cockpit. A dry evening under D'Qar stars, with the pilot prisoner leaning close. Ren moved from one to the next, almost dully, as if scrolling through names on a protocol datapad. If the prisoner could see his face, it would replicate the disinterest in his metal mask.

 

Sweat beaded the prisoner's dark skin. He gasped, short and rapidly.

 

"Stop it— _stop it_ —!"

 

His pleas were ignored. Ren delved elsewhere for older memories. Instead, he only came across events after he went rogue—a glimpse of blaring red in a snowstorm, miles and miles of desert, Leia Organa introducing herself and offering her help.

 

The following memory bloomed with laughter.

 

The scavenger was rushing to him—no, to FN-2187—spreading her arms for an embrace. She continued laughing even as the traitor snatched her and whirled her around, and Ren could feel the ghost of her breath warming his ear.

 

The prisoner started.  _"You're here—you're back, I mean… you are back, aren't you?"_

 

Ren snipped the memory away. FN-2187 shuddered.

 

"J-Just let them go…" he begged. "Do what you want to me, but you…you don't need them…"

 

Ren mentally sighed.  _Prisoners._  "You know the First Order does not release detainees."

 

FN-2187 insisted. "She's innocent."

 

"Not to me."

 

Fortunately, that quieted the traitor for a while. Ren searched on, although the memories were frustratingly scattered. The ones he did find when he was a standard stormtrooper were just that, no element of betrayal found. He had friends in his ranks, he ate every meal obediently… he even seemed content with his sanitation work.

 

Ren persisted. Suddenly, he was surrounded by the windows again—the penthouse for the banquet. They were moving past well-dressed creatures and senators and Resistance pilots, the formality of the setting pulsing with the beating sunlight. Then, Ren spotted what the traitor was seeing in the doorway. Within bodies of grey suits, a girl stood faced away in a billowing, purple gown—a flower in the midst of a storm.

 

Ren was consumed with annoyance, then—a sudden, hateful urge to kill something, to rid himself of the traitor's sentiment, the _weakness_ that the memory was melting him in. He should have killed them both sooner. There, in that forest.

 

"It would do you good to put these ideas out of your head, FN-2187," Ren said. "Your days are numbered. You will never have her the way you want."

 

The traitor's brows flattened through the pain. Even though his breathing was clipped, his voice rang stable.

 

"And neither will you."

 

* * *

**-o-**

* * *

 

Rey cupped her hands under the running faucet, the brisk temperature of the water nearly burning her skin, but she didn't care. She lapped it up heavily, messily, rapidly, just as she'd done all her life. Extraneous water trickled between her fingers and was swallowed away by the tub drain.

 

She should wash herself, she knew. Especially since the restroom attached to her cell enabled her to, and the quality of the tub was better than what she was used to. Sometimes, back on Jakku, a scavenger would pay to use the bathhouse owned by Unkar Plutt. She remembered the price: fifteen portions. Always too expensive. Still, some scavengers were willing to pay. Even Rey did when she could, although the time between sometimes drew out for months. Even years.

 

Yet here was a tub now, offered to her by her very enemies. And it was  _hers_.

 

Her hair had lost their curls and their fragrance, and she still only had the skin-colored chemise from the banquet, a poor excuse for attire that was beginning to stain from her sweat—but she didn't want to bathe for these people. No. Why should she give them the luxury? She suffered through her own filth her entire life, and she could continue doing so.

 

Besides. She didn't want to think about the horror of one of them walking in while she bathed—seeing her in that state…

 

She shuddered. The very thought was nauseating.

 

Finished, Rey leaned back from the tub, screwing the rusted metal knob until the water returned to mere droplets. She stood and wiped an arm across her lips, heading back into her main cell.

 

Four walls. A ceiling. A floor. A restraining apparatus.

 

Rey paced the cell again, letting her fingers skim each wall. They'd taken Finn hours ago, probably to the med bay as they'd discussed with their Supreme Leader. She could hear Finn's resistance through the hole she'd bridged between their cells, wishing she had the strength to peel the wall away and blast them into oblivion. She even promised herself she wouldn't let them re-wire him—she  _promised_! Why did she keep making promises she couldn't keep?

 

Her skimming fingers deepened to nails.

 

 _Powerless_. Again. She would just have to hope Finn found a way to save himself on his own.

 

Rey put both hands on the walls then, making her sixth attempt to infiltrate the locks. It had been a tiresome process. Unfortunately, nothing had come loose since the first nail. She didn't know if it was because of her strength or her fluctuating concentration—but she met no such relief.

 

_Luke could do this. Easily._

 

Grounding her teeth, Rey channeled that flame and pushed hard at the metal inside the door. She didn't know this yet, but those were the thoughts that ate at her, that made her confinement all the more unbearable. Not Kylo Ren, not the torture, not even the scarring image of their decayed master. _Luke_. Luke's strength in comparison to hers—or if she could even call what she had strength.

 

Mid-attempt, Rey's energy subsided at the sound of footsteps.

 

She leaned back, aware of the yellow light humming its warning drone. It couldn't be Kylo Ren—she didn't feel the warmth of his signature nearby. Still, Rey reluctantly backed herself into her restraining apparatus. Cooperation was safer for now.

 

A single man entered her cell, pale and gaunt to the bone. The redheaded general. Hux.

 

She'd almost forgotten he was her captor now—not Ren. And she was fortunate it turned out that way, too. She may not have been as strong as Luke or his nephew, but she knew she could overpower this one any day.

 

Rey tried hiding her sneer as the general keyed in a code, the metal coming to clamp over her wrists and ankles. Maybe she could have escaped there and now if she hadn't let him lock her in. What could he do? What power did he have without his metal masked dog there to save him?

 

She would exploit that in time. Oh yes, she would.

 

"Good evening, scavenger," came Hux's wry greeting. "I thought we might answer each other's questions today."

 

 _We_. By that, Rey knew he meant  _his_  questions, but she did have one of her own.

 

"Is he really going to kill his mother?"

 

Hux turned, taken aback. "Of course," he finally said. "He is the chosen one."

 

Rey caught the distaste in his tone. Apparently, they both were less than enthusiastic about it. But a  _chosen one_ —one destined to slaughter his own family members. The idea behind such a prophecy churned Rey's stomach.

 

"And what happens when he kills them both?" she had to ask.

 

Hux smiled thinly. "I'm afraid you will not live to find out."

 

Rey kept her face void of reaction, but the certainty in his voice did humor her.

 

She wouldn't die under his watch. Oh, no. It was only a matter of the time to make her escape—when Ren would be gone, when Finn was back in his cell. The stormtroopers shouldn't be that much of a problem for her if disarmed quickly. If she could just trick Hux into releasing her, she could unlock Finn and Poe's cells, and from there, get to a ship. Just as long as she was sure Ren was nowhere in sight.

 

For now, she'd play nice.

 

"As I said, I have a few questions," Hux planted himself before her, hands drawn behind. "I hoped we could be civil with one another and do this without an interrogation droid."

 

"You couldn't use it anyway," she said.

 

Hux's cheeks singed.

 

"Fear not," he said. "We have other weapons."

 

Rey's head tilted. Perhaps a long time ago, his threat would have been intimidating—if nothing else, his ashen appearance would be. How did someone function like that, constantly so hateful and angry and  _restless_?

 

 _Words are power against perturbation_ , Luke once told her. _Use them wisely, use them subtly, and they can cut as lethally as a blade._

 

Rey smirked.

 

"You're quite proud of yourself, aren't you?" she leisurely asked.

 

She waited for him to catch her flimsy attempt at stalling, but it wafted right past him like wind. Instead, his lips just curved—as if it were some kind of compliment.

 

She baited on.

 

"It's a shame you're not as strong as Kylo Ren."

 

 _That_  got him.

 

"He is not who I am here to discuss," Hux bit out.

 

Rey continued, wanting to see how far she could get. "You must have been in his shadow a long time. He's the chosen one, the gifted one, the  _preferred_." She paused. "Then there's you."

 

"And you, scavenger?" he said. "Who are _you_? How long have you scraped the mud off junk no one wants—licked the boots of the cretin keeping you alive? How long have you been  _nothing?_ "

 

 _Nothing_. She despised that word.

 

Hux drew closer to her apparatus, not done yet. She began to think she'd struck a nerve in him that was too dangerous to blow out as his face loomed over her, a simmering face .

 

To her horror, she watched his anger ebb away and shift to an expression even more frightening. A hand moved to her body, pale fingers dabbing at the hair tracing her breast. She tried shrinking back further into the platform, but there was nowhere to turn away.

 

 _I could stop this_ , she knew.  _I could make him go flying right this second._

 

 _No. Don't let him think you're strong yet_.  _Not until your escape._

 

Hux exhaled, his breath warming her face.

 

"Scavenger girls," he muttered, twisting a lock of her hair and letting it run through his fingers. "Unfortunate. Very unfortunate." Her hair left his touch. "If you were not a scavenger, perhaps…"

 

" _Don't_ ," she stressed the word, "touch me."

 

Rey saw it then, the sneer, the  _challenge_  ignite in his eyes. She imagined all men of power had that look at some point, thinking themselves above such demands from their prisoners.

 

But before either of them moved, an incoming transmission made its presence known through the screen by her door. A woman's voice, his captain probably. Hux leaned away to answer the message.

 

Rey shuddered, wishing she had the freedom of her hands to wipe away his touch as she would with dirt or grime—needing it off her, somehow. She needed a way out of this predicament, and  _fast_ , before he came back and she'd be forced to reveal her powers early by blasting him.

 

Then, a thought occurred to her. The same thought that had come from nothing but thin air all those years ago, some translation in the energy.  _Maybe…_

 

Hux finished the transmission, and Rey straightened in her restraints, serenity descending as she spoke calmly and assertively.

 

"You will remove these restraints and leave with the cell door open."

 

The words could have been a love confession for how graceful they left her lips. Hux paused, straightened, and turned robotically to the screen. For the briefest second she thought she had him, that it had truly been _that_  easy, until—

 

 _Pain_. The metal shrunk on her wrists and ankles and she cried out—

 

Hux's face twisted with delight. "Did you really think me so foolish as to fall for your little mind tricks?" he derided. "Did you think my master would have given me my position without basic training against  _your_  kind?"

 

She barely heard him. Oh— _oh_ —it  _hurt_ —!

 

 _Use the Force!_   _ForceForceForce_ —

 

Rey lashed forward, teeth digging into teeth, surging her body with energy and focusing on the pain—the _pain_ —her wrists—her ankles— _oh!_

 

_And then—_

 

Suddenly, relief, accompanied by a sound. A clink. Rey leaned forward, still in shock, still stunned by the sound and the shift in her position. The noise had come below her. Behind her, too.

 

_The restraining apparatus._

 

Rey's head turned, and she just stared at her metal bindings, now outstretched long enough for her whole wrist to fit through. Even those on her ankles had dented and stretched.

 

Hux squared his shoulders from the screen, apparently missing the sound and her widened restraints. From his angle, she realized, he saw no other difference.

 

Rey leaned back, becoming dangerously still.

 

_The fool thought he was the one that had ceased the pain._

 

"Now that you've exhausted your petty escape attempts," he continued, "shall we begin?"

 

Rey didn't answer. She barely even breathed.

 

Hux chuckled.

 

"Your silence will not save you. No prisoner of ours is that strong."

 

Rey breathed then, a long, careful exhale.

 

Her eyes found his.

 

"I'm stronger than you," she whispered.

 

This seemed to humor him. His smirked widely. "I'm afraid not, scavenger. The only power here is this screen, and the one who wields it. One code, and I could have you writhing in pain all over again."

 

Rey smiled.

 

_This was too great of an opportunity to ignore._

 

Gritting her teeth, her wrists and ankles broke free of the metal, peeling them away, one by one, as if they were mere pieces of armor. In the sweetest satisfaction, she watched Hux's face sink into terror as he blindly stumbled backwards.

 

Rey stepped from the apparatus, the last of the metal hitting the floor behind her.

 

"Finally," she breathed.

 

Hux opened his mouth to speak, to scream—she'll never know. The next moment, her hand flew out and the general went sailing backwards into open air—hurled by an unseen force until the steel wall met his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious and unmoving.

 

A voice pounded through her ears.

 

_Now._

 

Not wasting another moment, although a satisfying sight to leave behind, Rey leapt over him to initiate the unlocking of her cell through the screen. Obediently, the door parted and the lights of the hallway blinded her as sunlight would after being hours underground.

 

_Go!_

 

And with that, Rey dashed from her cell.

 

* * *

**-o-**

* * *

 

They had already sedated her by the time Kylo Ren heard about the escape attempt. She'd disarmed forty-three different troopers and severely wounded a remaining five, including the one guarding Poe Dameron's cell. Hux was found unconscious in hers, and it took three squadrons to surround her, and one brief moment of stolen awareness to knock her out with a sedative gun.

 

Fortunately, the damage had been minimal and replaceable. She'd gone nowhere that would cause problems for the base long term, nor had she found a way to leave the floor of prison cells. The last he heard, they were rebuilding a new restraining apparatus in her cell while two troopers with sedative guns monitored her unconscious body.

 

Ren started through an empty facility when he heard inevitable footsteps behind him, accompanied by enraged, ragged breathing.

 

"I  _demand_  a new station."

 

Ren stopped, paused, then slowly turned. Everything about Hux—his uniform, his hair, his face—everything seemed unhinged. Hux never wore humiliation well.

 

"General," he retorted tonelessly.

 

"I will _not_ ," Hux stepped into the room, "have that scavenger's powers dictate my attempts at an interrogation. You  _knew_  she was out of my control. As far as I'm concerned, you're a traitor to the First Order."

 

Ren dismissed the poor accusation. "I made it clear to Snoke that I was to oversee FN-2—"

 

"Any stormtrooper with a left hand could oversee him!" Hux seethed, far past veiled resentment now. "I could care less about your emotional baggage—the scavenger whore is  _yours_. I'll notify the Supreme Leader myself."

 

"Are you that incapable, General?"

 

"She's his padawan, Ren—just as you were! How can I manage her when she's breaking through her apparatus and tossing me this way and that around her cell? I will  _not_ subject myself to her sick powers."

 

"The girl is not invincible."

 

Hux stopped then, a range of retorts swelling within him, but something else was holding it all back for something more. Some realization that ignited his pale, lucid eyes.

 

"Are you  _afraid_  of her, Ren? Is that it?"

 

Ren's hooded mask slowly lifted, and his voice came out a dangerous growl.

 

"Careful."

 

"I should have expected no less," Hux didn't care. "One good slash from her across the face, and you're a cowering—"

 

" _Heed_  your boundaries, General."

 

The anger was unmistakable, now, and even Hux had the sense to falter—but oh—how Ren knew he wanted to continue. So many years they'd dealt with one other, repressing hateful things…

 

But Hux was still on his leash. He may have been upset now, but he wouldn't be able to forget how Ren closed his grip around his throat, made him beg and writhe for his life on the brink of death.

 

Hux swallowed, though his anger did not dissolve.

 

" _You_  will control her or we'll  _never_  find Skywalker."

 

The words burned, seared, and blackened into Ren's skull.  _His_. The girl was now his; it was not a choice anymore. No matter how solid an argument he could piece together to his Supreme Leader, Hux's incapability to subdue her would reign above everything. It was an argument and a choice he could longer fight.

 

And he had tried so hard to separate himself, to rid himself of her.

 

Finally, Ren spoke.

 

"Develop a serum to subdue her. One that will keep her conscious. I will oversee her interrogations until the serum is complete."

 

His answer was what Hux wanted—which he despised. He never liked pleasing him.

 

Hux stepped forward. "I want her cowering so hard that she forgets her own name. I want her whimpering at the sound of my footsteps; I would even have her sink to her knees if I willed it, Ren—" he stopped just before him, teeth bared, "—do I make myself clear?"

 

Only the black slits of his mask stared back, silent and unmoving. The passion in Hux's words was not entirely unfamiliar; Ren too had wanted a taste of that vengeance against her—this girl, this  _no one_  that had somehow materialized from nothing and ruined everything in his path. Ren thought of the snow, and the clashing lights, and the  _pain_ —looking through the pain up at her as the world tore them apart. And then he thought of her smile as she ran into foreign arms, and the color purple, and FN-2187's vow.

 

Instead of an answer, Ren surrendered FN-2187's datapad to him. A _temporary_  surrender.

 

"His cell number is 587."

 

* * *

**X**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm doing NanoWrimo next month, so I'll be back December!


	11. A Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars and its character belong to George Lucas.
> 
> A/N: Early chapter surprise! Enjoy!

**-o-**

* * *

 

_Bodies._

 

_So many bodies._

 

_In mid-air, an ember disintegrated into nothing, an unborn heart pulsed, a shadow wielded an orange flame, and the fire was rising, consuming, while a mouth opened, begging to die, and a mask…_

 

_A mask._

 

He was close.

 

He was _here_.

 

Rey inhaled sharply, the haze of her subconscious leaving her—the dreams, the fragments of words, the man calling her sweetheart with eyes pale as ice. All of it was fading, leaving her bruised and swollen in the body made for reality.

 

Through explosions of tiny, black spots in her vision and a pounding headache, Rey slowly comprehended the figure before her, a statuesque shadow.

 

She exhaled.

 

_The escape attempt. The chase. The desperation._

 

It had been for nothing. She couldn't recall how they'd subdued her, only that white-armored bodies were flying, and closing in, and appearing in every direction she turned.

 

Maybe Ren arrived when she wasn't looking. Maybe the adrenaline of the moment overpowered any flutter in her chest, any indication of him nearing. Maybe all he had to do was snap his fingers like he did on Takodana.

 

Rey let her vision clear before she moved. They were alone, it seemed. No trace of her other redheaded captor. Her restraining apparatus had also been replaced with a different platform, clasping her body at the knees and elbows too, a more advanced confinement.

 

She flexed her fingers, testing them just a little, and he caught her movement.

 

"Titanium."

 

Rey blinked. "What?"

 

"It's made of titanium," said the distorted voice. "Not easily broken, even with the Force. Only my voice can unlock them."

 

She let her body sag then, not bothering to mask her discouragement. She should have let Hux touch her. At least then she could have bided her time, waiting until Kylo Ren was gone, until escaping would have been easier.

 

Rey pushed the thought away, not wanting the parasite of her stupidity to further disseminate her mind. It didn't matter, now. She was here. She failed. And now she would endure the consequences.

 

"Hux isn't here," she noted.

 

The mask bowed. "You will be without his services until he can properly subdue you. Until then, I will oversee your interrogations."

 

Rey noted again, "That disappoints you."

 

He said nothing. Rey wondered why she herself wasn't more disappointed in the arrangement. How was she possibly going to help Finn and Poe this way?  _Ren is a monster_ , she told herself.  _I shouldn't prefer him to Hux._   _He wanted to kill Luke and Leia. Remember?_

 

Rey ground her teeth, the thought of the prophecy poisoning her mood.

 

"Are you  _really_  going to do this?"

 

The man said nothing again, but his mask settled in her direction. She pressed: "Slaughtering your own family like animals?" wanting the question to give him pause, give him something to reconsider.

 

His apathy reigned strong. "This is fate," he simply said.

 

"You're heartless. Cold. A  _monster_."

 

"Is this supposed to distress me?"

 

"I would have given  _anything_  to have what you had," she bit out, her eyes drowning in angry tears. "I would have _died_  to know my family—to have parents that loved me."

 

A pause followed, and although Ren's face was masked and his body never moved, Rey sensed the sudden, darkened change in his demeanor.

 

"You have no idea, scavenger," his voice lowered. "Do not talk about things you cannot speak for."

 

Rey held her ground. "You're murdering your own mother for a prophecy."

 

"For fate."

 

" _Fate_ ," she spat. "How can you even live with yourself?"

 

"Rather easily."

 

Rey exhaled—suddenly remembering that he didn't care. He was just a shell of a man, wired in metal and indifference. There was no point in even arguing.

 

Blinking back tears, Rey lifted her chin. "Well, monster. Here I am. I failed. I _failed_  to help the people I love escape, people that you would gladly kill for something as stupid as fate. What do you want, now? More memories? Look, then. I won't stop you."

 

Kylo Ren took no advantage of her submission. Instead, he just turned towards the door.

 

"There is nothing more you have that is of interest to me."

 

His words, despite everything, felt like a dagger in her chest. A single tear skated down her cheek as she closed her eyes.

 

"Finn," she whispered, remembering.

 

Ren turned halfway. She waited until the tears subsided before opening them to him again.

 

"What have you done with Finn?"

 

"Nothing yet," he told her. "You will see him soon enough."

 

She held her breath, muted from the shock.

 

"Tomorrow," he said, "I will interrogate you with both traitors."

 

Her stomach plummeted.

 

"You mean torture."

 

"Yes."

 

"For  _nothing_?"

 

"For my uncle."

 

Rey wanted to scream. "He knows what you're doing. He won't come under your circumstances."

 

"You give my uncle too much praise."

 

"He's stronger and wiser than you'll  _ever_  be."

 

She wanted the words to hurt—to hurt him as he hurt her. She needed some relief, some chink in his metal.

 

Sure enough, they did spark some attention. She still wasn't sure how she knew, why she knew, but she felt his irritation, that drop of water rippling his stoic, slate of water. Both his shoulders turned to face her.

 

"What good is having strength and wisdom when you're destined to die?" his shadow loomed over. "The old fool knows this cannot be avoided indefinitely. It's only a matter of how long he'll let you and your friends suffer for him."

 

His words sliced an open wound in her. Maybe there was truth in that. Maybe she knew it, too. If Luke wanted to save her—he would have done it by now. He would have listened to her calls.

 

But her master wasn't doing this out of cowardice. No. He would never. He was playing a larger game, one that she hoped benefitted everyone. She wouldn't believe he was anything less than what he'd proven to be, the wise, patient master of divine gifts. To accept Ren's accusations—to even  _consider_  the insult would surely drive her to insanity.

 

So Rey held strong. "Maybe  _you're_ wrong about this prophecy. A Skywalker has to kill another Skywalker, right?" she paused. "Maybe  _he_  will kill  _you_."

 

"My uncle has no intention of killing anybody," he said, and the certainty in his tone unnerved her.

 

She started. "You don't know that—"

 

"But I do."

 

His fingers found something behind him, somewhere in the midst of his dark cloak, and he pulled the small, metallic hilt out into the light. All retorts turned to ash in her mouth.

 

"How did you get that?" she demanded.

 

Kylo Ren stepped closer, loping it eloquently in his black gloves. "Do not insult your own intelligence, scavenger."

 

"No," she shook her head. "You  _stole_  it."

 

"He left it for me."

 

"No."

 

It was a lie. Why would Luke surrender his only weapon when he was in such terrible danger? Could it be that he was actually considering…?

 

_No_. She wouldn't let herself finish the thought. Ren was  _wrong_. He had to be. He was troubled and misguided and…

 

"I came upon his island. He left this there, right in plain view." He tucked the saber back into his belt. "It appears, scavenger, that you misjudged him, just as I had long ago."

 

Rey refused to welcome the thought. "I will _never_  believe you."

 

"The truth pains you."

 

" _Nothing_  you say can hurt me. Luke will come for us when the time is right. I know he will."

 

She became increasingly aware of how loud her voice was getting—how more spiteful her retorts were being let loose. Somewhere in the back of her head, she remembered Luke telling her about how people defended themselves—how they used louder words as a desperate attempt to deny the inevitable.

 

But this  _wasn't_  inevitable.  _Luke had to come at some point. He had to._

 

Ren watched her a while, and all she could imagine beneath that metallic mask was a smirk—one as contemptuous, snide, and utterly  _infuriating_  as Hux's. The image only enflamed her anger.

 

"Cowards cannot save anyone but themselves," he told her.

 

She snapped forward, lashing out. " _You're_  a coward because you know better. You  _know_  this is wrong. You know you shouldn't listen to that  _thing_ and you're going to let your family die because you're too _scared_  to save them."

 

Unfazed, Ren did not offer a reply and continued back towards the door.

 

Rey screamed after him. "If you had  _any_  spine at all,  _you_  would look me in the eye and stop hiding behind that mask."

 

He stopped.

 

Rey stared after him, dazed and exhilarated from her tirade until the silence slowly began to eat her alive. Did she really want that? Her own anger had betrayed her, had put false words in her mouth. She didn't  _really_  want to see what lay beneath.

 

Still, his gloved fingers slid away from the door and rose to grasp hold sides of his helmet. Rey's heart hammered, her body strapped and unable to move, filling with horror, and oh—she didn't want this, she didn't want to see this, oh—what was she _thinking_?

 

Something in Ren's helmet clinked and unlocked. He turned as he slid the contraption over his head and let the light of the cell illuminate his face.

 

_The scar._

 

That was what she saw first. A deep, reddened crevice birthed in the pale plains of his forehead, wedged between his eyebrows, down the hook of his nose, and widened past the open valley of his cheekbone. It was more than just a mark—it was  _her_  mark, and the sight of it filled her with unwanted guilt.  _She'd_  put that crevice there, that damaging slice into the veins and tissue that proved he was still human.

 

The rest was familiar—yet different, somehow. His face had sharpened, no longer rounded by boyish emotions, void of almost any emotion. When he'd revealed himself before—that had been the first thing she noticed. His sentiment. His  _humanness_. Now, despite the familiar curve of his brow, the slight swell of his lips, the hair that gathered around his shoulders like black smoke, the shadows of Leia and Han's faces—he was somehow unrecognizable as he stared back at her with dull knives for eyes.

 

And some part of her, someplace deep and lost reminded her that she'd been right before.

 

They  _were_  brown.

 

Rey suddenly looked away, as if his face had burned her. Seeing him this way felt immoral, like how Luke or Leia would have reacted, even though she had no reason to feel the same. He wasn't  _her_  son. He meant nothing to her, yet it still felt overwhelming.

 

She listened to him move forward until the world around her dimmed from his shadow. She kept her chin down, refusing, but his gloved fingers caught her, jerking her chin back up. She saw a brief glimpse of his scar, and she squeezed her eyes shut again, hiding herself.

 

"Is this what you wanted?" his voice came, now undistorted, but just as dark. "My eyes?"

 

Rey wanted to protest, to explain that she wouldn't have scarred him if he hadn't tried murdering Finn, but his proximity had muted her. His grip deepened, almost angrily, and she couldn't help but whimper.

 

"Look at me," he said.

 

She did, finally. Slowly. Years and years seemed to pass before they opened all the way, adjusting to the cruel face before her. How different they seemed in that moment—one face blistered in tears and hate, and another firm and blank. She watched helplessly, strapped in every way, absorbing the tiny details of his face, the tiny, insignificant movements they made.

 

"Really look at me, scavenger," he said. His voice, his face, and his breath were just inches away. "Search me. Find what you've been looking for." He angled her chin further up. "Did you think by seeing my face you would find some emotion? Regret? _Li_ _ght_?" He drew closer. "I have none. And nothing you say will change that."

 

Rey trembled, trying to steady herself somehow, but nothing was coming to her aid.

 

Ren leaned away, still holding her face. "Get used to looking at me. The real me. Not the pet my uncle and mother have groomed up in your mind. Sooner or later, this face will be the last thing you see."

 

Rey found some ground in that, and she ripped her chin from his grasp, taming her own expressions. "I don't care if you kill me anymore," she said, boldly. "But you know I have some power, and I have nothing to lose. If I were you… I would be _very_  cautious."

 

His lips thinned and uplifted. However slight the change was, it was more of a reaction than the eternal secret of his mask.

 

"Do your worst, scavenger," he said, releasing her, "and pray I don't inflict mine."

 

* * *

**X**


End file.
